Challenge
by vampassassin
Summary: Challenge. Definition: Fleeing MI6, joining Scorpia, ending up with a Russian with a drug problem as your only family, being hunted by every man and his dog and trying to successfully complete therapy, all at the same time. Alex knows what a challenge is.
1. Chapter One, an End to Numbness

**Challenge **

**A/N This is just a oneshot that I was going to put on my secondary account (duskASIS) but since I only created the account today, I couldn't publish it yet and I was too impatient to wait. So, I published it under this account instead. I wrote this in about twenty minutes and it was just an idea that popped randomly into my head, so it's probably not of great quality. I'd prefer _constructive_ criticism to flames please!**

* * *

The challenge wasn't surviving the bullets, lethal thugs or doomsday plots. No, the true challenge was surviving the numbness and yourself once it was all over.

Not that he was suicidal of course. Alex was no fool; he knew that suicide was not an option. Death didn't scare or bother him like it should've, but that didn't mean He wanted to end it all and he especially didn't want to imagine the pain that that undeniably selfish act would cause Jack. No, he wouldn't do that, even if he'd wanted to. Which he didn't.

The problem was that, he just didn't, no _couldn't_ care. Like when he cut his hand one night making himself something to eat. It hurt, but he didn't move, he just stood watching the blood trickle relentlessly from the cut and down his wrist. Jack had yelled at him when she'd come in and seen him. That had irked him a little, he didn't like it when he upset Jack, but even that hadn't been enough to shake the numb sort of disregard that gripped him. Once it'd slipped away the next morning though, he'd felt terrible when he remembered and saw the expression on Jack's face.

Alex did his best to care after that. It was hard, sometimes he just wanted to stand and wait until it was over and not do anything, but he knew that if he started doing that, it would only be a downward spiral. Still, hard as he tried, it got worse.

Alex was staring out the window of his English classroom when the teacher declared he was collecting the previous night's homework. Alex dimly registered that he hadn't done it, he'd simply forgotten. Homework wasn't the only thing slipping from his memory lately either. The fact that he hadn't done his homework should've triggered the normal response of annoyance and slight panic that just about every school student goes through, but it didn't. He just didn't care.

"Mr. Rider, can I have your homework please?" His teacher loomed over him, a bundle of papers in one hand whilst the other was held out expectantly. For a second, Alex just studied the outstretched hand, thinking suddenly of how many hands had helped and how many had hurt.

"Mr. Rider?" The teacher was growing impatient, so Alex reluctantly pulled himself from his reverie and looked up at the teacher.

"I haven't done it." He said, a little surprised by how flat his voice sounded. He may as well have programmed a computer to say the words for him.

All around, his classmates whispered and sniggered. Alex was a popular subject of discussion and his newest stunt of not doing his homework would doubtlessly be analysed. It used to irk Alex that he couldn't do anything in school without being second guessed. It barely registered as an annoyance now.

"Pardon?" The teacher asked, looking annoyed. Alex shrugged.

"I haven't done it." He repeated, a little louder. He was starting to get a little irritated by the way the teacher was glaring at him. "Sorry?"

The teacher picked up on the insincerity of the apology. His lips became a thin line and Alex knew straight away that the man was not impressed. Alex gave a weary sigh.

"Mr. Rider, are you aware that you have not completed 40 of this year's coursework?" The teacher asked nastily, "If you continue in this manner, you will not pass this class and will have to repeat! I hope you realize the consequences of not doing last night's homework when it's put into such a perspective!"

The man paused, obviously waiting for a response. Alex just looked down at the desk and shrugged. The teacher glared at him.

"Don't you care about what I said?" The teacher demanded.

The words were out of Alex's mouth before he could stop them.

"Not really." He muttered. Straight away, he regretted his words. Awkwardly, he just went back to staring at his desk. The classroom had gone silent.

The teacher seemed taken aback for a minute. Then, he resumed the attack.

"Then what," The man asked dangerously, "_Do_ you care about hmm?"

Alex just shrugged. The teacher narrowed his eyes.

"What was that Mr. Rider? Speak up please?"

Alex muttered something under his breath. The teacher slammed his pile of papers down on Alex's desk.

"Mr. Rider if you are going to insist on continuing this behaviour I will-"

"I DON'T KNOW, OKAY?!" Alex suddenly shouted, fed up. He pushed himself up to his feet and his chair ended up crashing to the ground. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT I CARE ABOUT BUT IT SURE AS HELL ISNT SOME STUPID PAPER ON MY FAVOURITE HOLIDAY MEMORY!"

If he'd thought it had been silent before, he was wrong. A crypt would have been noisier then the classroom in the aftermath of his outburst. Alex stood in the middle of the room, suddenly aware of all the stunned expressions and eyes on him. He suddenly knew that he couldn't stay here, not right now anymore.

Cheeks burning, Alex walked to the door. No one made a sound and no one tried to stop him. At one point, his teacher looked like he was going to say something, but Alex stopped him.

"Don't, alright?" The teen ordered him wearily, "Just leave me alone. That's what I care about: being left alone for once."

Then, Alex yanked the classroom door open and strode into the corridor. A few moments later, he was out of the school altogether.

* * *

Walking along through the city, Alex knew he'd really done it this time. He'd be lucky if he didn't get expelled for yelling at a teacher and then ditching school altogether. Even if they didn't try to punish him, Alex knew he'd be labelled a 'special needs child' and be subjected to patronising behaviour from the teachers, frequent visits to the school counsellor and as for the other kids… Alex knew his classmates would be sure to hand out the worst punishment of all. He'd never fit in again now.

It didn't bother him though. He was well and truly numb, just wondering along in his own bubble. Alex didn't feel like he was capable of reacting to anything so he figured he'd just keep on walking until he could feel something. He wondered how far he'd have to walk.

Alex walked past a chemist, and he suddenly thought of Jack. The school would have called her by now; she'd be frantic with worry. Maybe he should buy some flowers or some chocolates for her, to say sorry.

Alex considered it for a minute; it seemed like a good idea. He had a few Euros in his pocket; he'd probably be able to buy something nice for her.

There was an electronic doorbell that chimed as Alex walked into the shop. The woman behind the front counter looked up and regarded him suspiciously. Alex was still wearing his school uniform; he figured she knew he was ditching school. He also figured that if she wanted to be suspicious, that was her problem, not his. He wasn't going to steal anything.

As Alex idly decided on what box of chocolates to buy, the doorbell chimed again. Two men walked in, Alex instinctively gave them the once-over. His heart began to race.

They were both fit and wearing cargo pants and hooded sweatshirts. They were silent, and worst of all, they wore balaclavas and carried guns.

"Alright bitch, open the till!" One of them demanded, levelling his gun at the lady behind the front counter. She gave a terrified yelp and put her hands up pathetically.

"I c-can't!" She sobbed. The man advanced on her and Alex heard them start an argument.

"Why the hell not?!" The man snarled, brandishing his gun, "You better have a damn good reason, unless you want a bullet in your head!"

The woman was quickly approaching hysterical.

"The r-r-register w-won't let me o-open it unless s-something's b-been purchased!" She stuttered.

The man glanced over at his partner who'd closed the shop's door and pulled the curtain on it down.

"Alright, you heard her, grab somethin' of the shelves!"

The other man took a box of tissues off the shelf and tossed them at the lady.

"Hurry it up!" He yelled.

Shaking, the woman tried scanning the box. It wouldn't register with the scanner. The men were advancing on her and she frantically tried again and again.

"Hurry up!" One of the men howled, "The police could be here any fucking minute!"

The woman's face was covered in tears.

"I-I'm t-trying!" She wailed, "It's not working!"

One of the men, Alex thought he was the one who'd originally demanded she open the till suddenly flicked safety off his gun.

"Screw this, I say we just blow her head off and then try somewhere else."

The woman was screeching her head off and then Alex, who'd been crouching behind one of the shelves the entire time, stood.

"Don't!" He said. It wasn't a shout or even very loud, but it definitely got the thieves' attention. They whirled around to face him and in that minute, the woman dived beneath the counter and fumbled for the silent alarm button that would alert the police to the robbery. However, in her haste, she pressed the shop's burglar alarm, which was not silent. The shrill scream of the alarm filled the shop.

One of the men snarled a curse and before Alex could so much as blink, shot the woman in the face. Her body fell to the ground, vanishing from sight behind the counter.

Alex's eyes widened and he took a step forward, feeling sickened. The other man rounded on him, gun level with his head.

Alex froze. He didn't feel afraid, that numbness was enveloping him again. He suddenly remembered all the time's he'd had guns pointed at him, all the times he'd been hurt and afraid. Alex suddenly felt very small and useless. His inability to feel, to react was going to kill him and he still couldn't care.

But the man didn't shoot him. Amidst the alarm and chaos, the man just studied Alex, seeming to see something in the teen's eyes. The man took a couple of steps forwards, but Alex didn't cringe or back up. He just watched what could be his death approach him, with a sort of detached interest.

"You're not afraid." The burglar said. It wasn't a question, but Alex answered anyway.

"No."

The man shook his head slowly.

"You should be. Why aren't you?"

Alex smiled humourlessly.

"I don't feel anything anymore, I'm numb." He wasn't sure why he said that or why he was talking to this man. He just knew that he couldn't stop himself either.

The man opened his mouth to say something, but his partner interrupted.

"Jesus man, what are you doing?! The police are coming man, just kill the kid and let's piss off!" The man was edgy and sounded younger, in contrast to his partner who was completely calm.

"No, leave the kid alone!" The man snapped back at his partner.

The younger man looked disgusted.

"He'll be a witness dumbass!"

And then, what Alex considered the inevitable happened. The younger man shot him. The other man saw his partner aim and tried to pull Alex aside, but the bullet still struck him, slicing into his upper arm, almost in the shoulder.

Alex finally felt something, and it was pain. He screamed and he knew he was going to black out. There was blood everywhere, he knew it was his. He collapsed on the floor and felt like he was dying. Suddenly, he was scared of dying, it bothered him. Living suddenly mattered to him, he wanted to play soccer again, he wanted to talk to Jack again.

The two thieves were arguing over his head.

"Jesus! What'd you do that for!"

"He's gonna be a witness, I have to-"

There was the sound of metal hitting flesh. The younger man gave a howl of pain and the older thief was speaking again.

"No! You're not touching him! Now we need to get the fuck out of here, move it before the police have to investigate a double homicide!"

There was the sound of the door's lock being undone and footsteps pounding the pavement. Screams came from the street.

Alex just lay curled on the ground covered in his own blood, crying and screaming unashamedly. He could feel consciousness fading, but the pain was still there. It was like white-hot and smothering him. It wouldn't let go and for some reason, Alex felt like for the first time in weeks he was truly alive.

Suddenly there was a voice in his ear. Alex could vaguely smell aftershave.

"Don't be numb, it kills you Alex." The older thief said. And then, Alex heard footsteps again and knew that the man was gone.

Alex heard sirens. Then, just before he passed out, Alex wondered how the thief had known his name.

Alex Rider was no longer numb.


	2. Chapter Two,Apologies and NonInvolvement

**Chapter Two, Apologies and Non-involvement**

**Well, I have to say you guys all rock!!! I was amazed by the positive feedback I received and as a thank-you to anyone who's ever read and/or reviewed my writing!!! I have a rough idea for a plot, but it's still forming in my mind, so my apologies if there's a bit of a lull between chappies. This isn't going to be a hugely long story either, I just don't have the time for that, not if you want me to be update Kill or be Killed as well!!! Anyway, that's enough from me, enjoy…**

* * *

Alex nearly broke the paramedic's nose when the man tried to move him to a stretcher. Then again, he'd just woken from being shot to find a stranger crouching over him with what looked like a needle in one hand. That was always going to get a bad reaction. 

Alex gave a gasp as his eyes flew open to reveal the unfortunate man. Disoriented and scared, Alex lashed out with his uninjured arm, smashing it across the paramedic's face. The man gave howl and collapsed, clutching his nose which was now spurting blood.

Panting and wild eyed, Alex looked around him. Slowly he registered the police and the paramedics and more importantly, his arm.

Alex gave a moan as the pain washed over him. It wasn't like the sniper wound which hadn't hurt him until after surgery; this was agonising. Alex was dimly aware that he was lying in a pool of his own blood and he started to panic.

Alex tried to sit up, but the paramedic was back again and with the help of his partner, a burly looking woman in her thirties. They deposited a stretcher next to Alex and tried to lift him onto it.

Too panicked to register the fact that they were trying to help, Alex tried weakly to fight them off. His arm was on fire, but he ignored it, thrashing and trying to get free of the paramedics. The woman leaned over him.

"Relax, relax, we're trying to help…Relax!" She grunted, trying to clam him and keep him from hurting himself at the same time.

One of the police officers came over to help.

"It's alright lad, just try to relax now…"

Alex registered the police officer's uniform and stopped trying to fight off the paramedics. Obviously relieved, the two of them quickly worked at getting Alex onto the stretcher. He gave a howl of pain whenever his arm was jostled.

"Can't you give him anything for the pain?" The police officer asked, sounding both angry and concerned. The paramedics shook their heads quickly.

"We're worried he'll go into shock," The woman explained whilst her partner pushed Alex towards the ambulance, "He's lost a lot of blood and giving him anything might be pushing it. He'll have to wait until he's at the hospital and has been properly looked at before he can have any drugs."

The police officer didn't look happy, but he was smart enough to realize that the paramedics knew what they were doing.

"Do we know what happened here yet?" The woman asked suddenly, packing everything up, getting ready to get back in the ambulance.

The police officer shrugged.

"Robbery homicide, the kid interrupted things and the thieves obviously got nervous. The shopkeeper took a bullet directly between the eyes and it looks like one of the thieves tried to do the same to the kid."

The paramedic paused in the middle of packing her equipment up.

"Tried?" She repeated quizzically, "What do you mean tried?"

The police officer looked awkward now.

"Well, seems the other thief pulled the kid out of the way."

The paramedic raised a brow.

"How do you know that? Do you have one of them in custody?"

The police officer shook his head.

"No, there's a security camera above the counter, we saw everything that happened. Unfortunately the camera's an older model, no sound attached."

The paramedic made a face and shrugged.

"Even so, shouldn't be too hard to find the thieves then, easy case right?"

The police officer wasn't paying a lot of attention anymore though, there was a growing crowd outside the store and the other officers were having trouble moving them on.

The paramedic didn't wait for a reply, she quickly joined her partner in the ambulance and the vehicle took off into the street, lights and sirens screaming.

The police officer watched the ambulance go, discontent quickly springing to life in his belly. It may be an easy case, but it was a bizarre one.

He hadn't mentioned how the kid had barely reacted to having a gun pointed at him or how the kid and one of the thieves had obviously had words. And the way that one of the thieves, a man who obviously had no problem killing innocent people had gone to the time and effort to try and save a child's life from his bastard of a partner.

The whole thing was peculiar, and the police officer had a bad feeling that these oddities were somehow crucial to the case. He'd have to talk to the kid, he decided. Little did he know that 'the kid' probably wouldn't want to talk to him.

* * *

Alex wasn't exactly sure what happened at the hospital, it all sort of passed by in a painful, confusing blur. He remembered that a man loomed over him at one point and has said that they were calling Jack. He also had a vague memory of a nurse telling him that the paramedic who he'd hit was fine. Alex didn't remember asking, but people told him later on that he had. Apparently he'd said a lot of things once they'd finally gotten around to dosing him up on pain killing drugs. Once he'd been brought around properly, he found out that at one point, he'd cried out for Jack. 

It didn't embarrass him, but he knew then that he and Jack needed to talk.

Jack didn't come bursting into his room like he'd half expected. Instead, she came in looking pale and very scared. She was uncertain if she was welcome, he could tell that just from looking at her face. He felt terrible, he'd put her through more then he'd realized.

"Hi Alex," Jack said quietly, "How are you going?"

Alex grimaced and tried to shrug. That was an idea quickly regretted when his arm (which had been stitched up), screamed in protest. He gave a small yelp of pain.

Jack cringed when he yelped and made to turn away.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No!" Alex burst out, "No, stay!"

Jack hesitated, biting her bottom lip.

"Y-you're sure?" She stammered, looking wretched.

Alex felt a wave of self-disgust.

"Yes, I'm sure," He said, as warmly as he could, "I want to talk to you actually."

A wary sort of hope spread like sunshine over Jack's face. She came and sat next to Alex's bed. Alex took a deep breath and dived right in.

"Jack, I just want to say I'm so sorry for all the absolute shit I've put you through in the last few weeks. I was in a bad way, but that was no excuse for me to treat you like that." Alex hesitated, not quite able to remember the next thing he was going to say.

To his horror, Jack was blinking back tears.

"Oh shit," Alex said, appalled, "Oh shit Jack, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to make you cry! Shit shit sh-"

"You're such an idiot!" Jack cut in, looking quite scary for a moment. Alex fell silent.

"You're an idiot," Jack said again, sniffing and smiling weakly, "I'm crying because I'm happy! I was so scared for you; it's so good to see you the way you used to be."

Alex breathed out in relief.

"At the risk of sounding completely clichéd, it's good to _be_ back." He said, giving a half smile, "I'm sorry you had to see me the way I was."

Jack waved the apology aside, suddenly looking worried again.

"How's your arm, is it really sore?" She fretted, "The doctors said there shouldn't be any lasting damage, the bullet only just got you."

Alex wrinkled his nose, glancing at the bandages that covered the wound.

"It hurts, a lot," he admitted, "I'm just lucky that that guy pulled me out of the way…"

He trailed off, noticing Jack's expression.

"Alex," she said warily, "I know you probably don't want to discuss it, but there's a police officer who says he needs to ask a few questions about what happened…"

Alex sighed, he was really tired and didn't want to spend hours answering questions, but he knew it would be better just to get this over and done with.

"Okay," he said, trying to sound upbeat, "Send him in."

Jack nodded and walked over to the door. She opened it and Alex saw the same police officer that had helped him in the store.

"Hello," the police officer said, obviously a little awkward, "I'm detective Schaffer, you probably don't remember but I was at-"

"-At the shop?" Alex finished for him, "Yeah I remember, I should probably thank you."

Detective Schaffer shrugged.

"No need, but if you feel like repaying me…"

Alex smiled wryly; this man was smarter then what he'd thought.

"You want to ask me about what happened?"

Detective Schaffer inclined his head, shrewd grey eyes appraising him.

"Yes, you're very intuitive." The man's voice was calm and somehow, Alex got the impression that this man was both well educated and very sharp.

"Not really," Alex shrugged, "It's pretty obvious. What can I do for you?"

Schaffer smiled and sat in one of the other chairs in the room.

"I'll be quick, I know you're probably quite tired and want to have some time with Ms. Starbright."

Alex felt the first stirrings of unease. He wasn't sure why though.

"Okay…"

Schaffer dove right in.

"Alright Alex, on the security footage, I noticed that you didn't seem scared by the way you were held at gunpoint. That seems like an atypical reaction, especially considering your age, don't you think?"

Alex idly wondered how the man would react if he told him the truth.

'_Well sir, I've had so many guns pointed at me in my life that's it practically run of the mill these days…'_

Somehow he didn't think it would go over well. So, he decided on a slightly altered version of the truth.

"Well, I can't really explain my behaviour," Alex said, trying to sound bewildered, "I guess that I was just so scared that my mind sort of froze."

Schaffer's eyes narrowed.

"I've been told that you have hobbies such as karate, mountain climbing and rifle shooting. You hardly seem like the sort of person who'd be prone to such a reaction. There's also an incident with a crane that rather strengthens that belief…"

Alex mentally cursed.

'_I thought MI6 took care of that…How the hell did he find out about that?'_

As if reading his mind, Schaffer looked perplexed.

"That was a hard to find piece of information I might add," The detective said, "I wonder why that was?"

Alex met the man's gaze evenly.

"I have no idea." He answered flatly, "Perhaps you'd like to ask some more questions?"

Schaffer looked annoyed, but decided that was a good idea.

"Well, since you're not sure on that point… It's also clear from the footage that you and one of the thieves exchanged words, what did you talk about?"

Alex decided that the truth would do him some good here.

"He wanted to know why I didn't look afraid…I think he was older then the other bloke, he was in charge anyway."

Schaffer looked interested at that.

"Can you remember anything about the two thieves at all?"

Alex seriously thought about it. He'd just remembered the way that one of the thieves had known his name and he was desperately curious as to why that was.

"I couldn't see their faces really, they wore balaclavas…" Alex said slowly.

Schaffer nodded.

"Yes, but do you remember if they said anything that might lead to a specific identity. Did they have accents; did they seem to know the shop's layout?"

Alex was starting to remember details that hadn't registered before.

"They spoke with London accents and swore, but they didn't seem quite right." He replied.

"Like they were putting them on?" Schaffer asked excitedly. Alex nodded slowly.

"Yes… Thinking back, I think that maybe the younger guy seemed like he had a foreign accent that he was trying to hide beneath the fake London one."

Schaffer made notes of all this.

"What sort of accent?"

Alex was straining his memory, but he couldn't be sure.

"Not English or Irish, that's all I know."

Schaffer looked disappointed by the sudden drought in information.

"Anything else? Anything at all?" He pushed, tapping his pen against his notepad for emphasis.

Alex shook his head, resisting the urge to yawn. He was exhausted and even just talking to this man was tiring.

Schaffer scowled and Alex felt a stab of dislike for the man.

"Well, you obviously did your best," the detective said mockingly, "I'll leave you to…recover…"

Alex smiled blandly.

"Alright, it was nice talking to you Detective."

Schaffer spared him a borderline dirty look before leaving the room.

As soon as the room's door had swung shut, Jack rounded on Alex.

"You spoke with one of them?!" She demanded incredulously, "Alex, what the hell's going on here? What'd he really say?"

Alex grimaced; he hadn't realized that it had been that obvious he hadn't told the whole truth.

"I don't know what's going on," He answered honestly, "He saved my life though, the younger guy wanted to kill me so there'd be no witnesses."

Jack shook her head.

"You can't think that necessarily makes him a good guy though!"

Alex held his hands up to ward off the rest of her argument.

"I know that!" He said defensively, "But I think that it's strange, I want to know why he did it."

Jack didn't look happy about it.

"Look, he did the right thing, but promise me you won't do anything stupid like go looking for him?"

Alex smiled faintly.

"I think that's a promise I can happily make, I'm tired of doing stupid things."

Jack studied him for a moment longer before nodding, obviously satisfied.

"Look, you should get some rest. The doctor said that he wants you here overnight, but he honestly doesn't think you need to stay much longer. I'll be back to discharge you tomorrow, alright? I have to talk to the police and the school…"

Alex nodded silently, feeling bad for all the trouble he was giving her. Then, he did something that he probably didn't do enough; he gave Jack a quick hug.

"Sorry." He said again. Then, he switched the bedside lamp off and closed his eyes. He was asleep quickly.

* * *

The younger thief's name was Donati Francesco and he annoyed the hell out of the older thief. Well, the older man anyway, they weren't really thieves. 

They were in an apartment close to the Albert Embankment. It was a small place that was cheaply furnished and although it was not visibly dirty, it had an air of being unclean anyway. At present, it also had an air of danger. The two men were arguing.

"You're going to fail if you don't stop fucking up." The older man said flatly, not looking up from his laptop.

They'd removed their balaclavas and each had donned an outfit of their own preferences. The younger man had shaggy black hair and dark eyes. He glared at his partner, lip curled.

"At the risk of sounding childish, I'd say that my 'fucking up' is actually _your_ fault." He snarled, accent undoubtedly Mediterranean.

His partner raised a brow and looked over at him.

"You're perfectly correct, that does sound childish." He said dismissively, "But never the less, I'm curious as to how you came to that conclusion?"

Donati looked annoyed.

"It was simple; we go in, dispose of any witnesses and then get out, hopefully a few Euros heavier. Once we're out of trouble, you report back on what a great job I did. Instead, you had to interrupt things when that brat appeared. What was with that?"

The older man surveyed his partner coolly, managing to pack an unbelievable amount of disdain into a simple look.

"Firstly, it was never meant to be amount money, it was meant to be a test. Secondly, you can forget any report that shows my approval of your actions, but I thought that you did a dismal job, at best. Thirdly…"

Donati glared.

"Thirdly?"

The older man smiled humourlessly.

"Thirdly, the 'brat' is none of your concern."

Donati snorted.

"Rat's ass! You made him my concern when you didn't kill him and then stopped me from doing what should have been done."

The young man's partner glared at him, eyes like two pieces of ice.

"In hardly need to remind you that I never kill children and if you are going to learn from me, the same will go for you."

Donati calmed a little and studied his partner. Then, he smiled. It was an ugly gesture, more of a cruel leer then a display of humour.

"I wish I could have seen you during Invisible Sword, you must have been way pissed!" The man laughed. It was apparent from the sadistic tone in his voice that the slaughter of thousands of children didn't bother him. The man was probably just depressed that the operation had failed.

"Even if it had have been any of my concern, I wouldn't have done anything," The other man replied quietly, "It was an Executive Board project; I would have had to be either foolhardy or suicidal to try and dissuade them."

Donati looked disappointed by his partner's lack of reaction. He enjoyed getting a rise out of people. It was that foolish hobby that had gotten him the large, knotted scar that stretched from his left cheekbone and over his nose. It turned out that taunting a drunken South African who was two feet taller then you was a bad idea. Who knew?

"Whatever." The man snorted, flicking on the television abruptly. He promptly turned to a re-run of East-Enders and tuned his partner out.

The other man turned back to his laptop, disgusted with the sorry excuse for an operative he was supposed to be training. He'd let Scorpia know the man was unfit to be an agent. They'd probably give him the green light to kill him and then they'd start over. Perfect.

The man refocused on what he was doing. The open window displayed an internet search engine for finding people's addresses in London. It wasn't perfect, more and more people were making their details private, but the man figured it was worth a try.

**First Name:**

**Last Name:**

The man paused, watching the blinking cursor against the olive green box. Getting involved wouldn't be a good idea. No, he'd just observe, that was all. No need to engage himself in anything, just watching would be fine. It couldn't hurt. Much.

He quickly typed in the details, fingers flying gracefully over the keys.

**First Name: **ALEX

**Last Name: **RIDER

* * *

Well, what'd you think? Personally, I though the ending to this chappie wasn't too bad. Anyway, some Q's... 

1) Do we want much MI6 involvement, or should they be left out as much as possible and concentrate on Alex?

2) Should Alex break his promise to Jack and become obsessed with finding out more about the 'thief', or should he run into the thief again inadvertently?

3) Should Alex still suffer lingering affects of his depression-type-thing? Or should the near death experience more or less provide in instant 'cure'?

Anyway, love you all, R 'n' R!


	3. Chapter Three, Contacts

**Chapter Three, Contacts**

**Hey people, sorry for the very long gap between updates, I was on holiday in a place that had zero internet (ack!) and mobile phone reception that wasnt much better. It's a miracle I survived it all 0-o**

****

**I do have to work too and school will be starting again soon for me, so please be patient if updates are slow. I am human (I know, who knew?!), I can only handle so much at a time!!!**

* * *

Although he'd barely been away for two days, Alex felt a deep comfort at being on his way home. He was glad to be out of the hospital, the doctors had insisted on keeping him longer for psychological observation after a nurse had caught Alex doing sit-ups in his room. They'd though that he'd had an eating disorder when in fact, he'd been so desperate for something to do beyond watching TV he'd resorted to exercise. 

Staring out the car window, Alex felt the approach of the old, familiar habit of silence that dated from even before his…

'_My what?'_ Alex wondered, _'Depression? Mental breakdown?'_

In the end, he just ended referring to it as 'before what happened'.

Jack noticed as well, there was wariness in her eyes.

"You alright?" She asked gently, "Nothing bothering you?"

Alex smiled at her reassuringly.

"No, I'm just thinking."

Jack slowed to a halt outside the house and glanced over at him as she switched the car off.

"What about?" She asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"I was wondering what to call that whole thing that I was going through." Alex answered, resolving to be much more open and honest with Jack starting now.

The red haired woman considered for a minute.

"Temporary mental predicament?" She ventured, half smiling.

Alex grinned as well, following her up the front steps.

"Yeah, or maybe just call it TMP for short?"

Jack laughed, unlocking the front door.

"I'll bring it up in conversation all the time, Alex's little TMP. People will permanently label you a 'drama queen'." She tossed over her shoulder.

Alex smiled faintly and stepped through the front door. Straight away, he stopped. Jack glanced back at him, realizing he wasn't right behind her.

"Alex, what's wrong?"

Alex didn't answer straight away, glancing around him first. Some primal instinct was digging its claws into him.

"Has anyone been here in the last couple of days?" He asked, trying not to sound as tense as he suddenly felt.

Jack frowned slightly.

"No, I stayed with a friend near the hospital remember?"

Alex nodded, chewing his bottom lip. He still felt that someone besides him and Jack had been in the house though. It was like when a visitor leaves, you get traces of their presence lingering.

"Does anyone else have keys to the house?" He asked suddenly, surprised he'd never asked before.

Jack's frown grew.

"No!" She said, sounding half curious, half annoyed, "What's with the sudden paranoia?"

Alex knew she was starting to get suspicious, so he just smiled and shrugged.

"Sorry, it just feels like someone's been here." He said, acting as it was nothing, "I guess I'm just overly sensitive to the feeling because I haven't been home the last couple of days."

Jack looked a little uncertain now, as if she was actually considering Alex's suspicion.

"You sure?"

Alex nodded empathetically.

"Yeah," he said firmly, "I'm just overreacting."

He wasn't.

* * *

Alex stood by his bed, tense and a little scared. His heart was pounding from that fear and from surprise. 

In his right hand was the note he'd found on his bed. It was handwritten, but it was a completely unfamiliar handwriting.

**Only use this if it's absolutely necessary. I told myself I wouldn't get involved, but I'm still available if you honestly need help. And I mean ****desperately**** need help, this can be traced if used for long enough and that could be very bad for me.**

There was no signature. The noted had been taped onto a brand new, top of the line mobile phone that had been left on Alex's bedside table. He had no clue who had put it there, it was the only thing different about his room. There was only one number in the saved contacts and there was no name to go with that number.

Alex was badly tempted to just ring the number and see who answered, but the last part of the note stopped him.

_…**This can be traced if used for long enough and that could be very bad for me.**_

Alex didn't know why, but he had the feeling that this wasn't something that the note's author had made up; there was real danger for them in giving him the phone. He didn't really want to risk the safety of someone who was offering potential help. Even if he didn't know who that someone was.

Still, it was creepy the way that someone had entered the house, taking so much care not to leave clues to their identity but then went and left a phone for him. It was too much like a thriller film for his liking. He'd been through enough without suddenly factoring mystery stalker types into his life.

Just then, Jack called up the stairs that dinner was ready, causing Alex to jump. With one last glance around his room, Alex walked slowly down the stairs and to the kitchen.

* * *

The older 'thief' was becoming increasingly tempted to just kill his partner, whether or not he had Scorpia's official seal of approval. 

"Where the hell where you today?" Donati demanded, "You're supposed to be training me remember?!"

The young man's partner shot him a vicious glare.

"No, I'm not supposed to be training you. I only train those who are worth the effort and naturally suited for the role. You are neither and as such, I am no longer going to waste time on a man who's no more then a thug who's freeloading off of those of higher distinction."

Donati bared his teeth, looking a lot like a feral dog. Then, he smirked and folded his arms across his broad chest.

"I still want to know where you went though." He said, trying for pleasant, "I think you were doing something against protocol, but I could be wrong; maybe you just went to a strip club or something.

The older man shot Donati a disgusted look.

"You think I'm that deprived?"

Donati shrugged.

"I dunno, all I know is that you have a reputation for being pretty fucked up. Who knows what you get your kicks from?"

The older man raised a brow.

"I have a reputation? How so?" He asked, genuinely curious, "I'll take it as a compliment, but I'd like to know what I've done to deserve it."

Donati grinned, baring his teeth again.

"Well, it's common knowledge that you have no problem torturing then killing someone with a cold determination that I bet even Hitler would have been proud of, yet you won't touch a hair on a child's head. Sounds odd to me, maybe you're a pedophile?"

The older man laughed shortly, obviously grimly amused by such a notion.

"Everyone also knows that I don't kill children, so there's nothing odd about that."

He paused, and then regarded Donati with a sardonic sort of interest.

"How old are you?" He asked.

Donati looked puzzled by the line of questioning.

"I'm Twenty-five, why?"

The other man smiled humourlessly.

"I'm thirty-five. The ten years immaturity you possess is obviously all the difference. Unfortunately, that difference is one that denies you the ability to be a Scorpia operative."

Donati looked furious.

"That's not your fucking decision!" He snarled, "Only the Board can decide."

His partner looked at him mockingly.

"And the Board makes their decisions based on the reports I give. Do you know what happens to rejected trainees?"

Donati suddenly went very still. His russet skin drained, leaving him an ugly, blotchy tan-yellow.

His partner smiled cruelly.

"So long as you don't piss me off too badly I might just suggest that they let you live."

Donati opened his mouth to say something, but it seemed the words wouldn't come because he closed his mouth again without making a sound. Wearing an expression that was half terror, half hatred, he stalked out of the room. He slammed the door shut behind him.

The other man was relieved, Donati was like a migraine: painful to put up with and almost impossible to get rid of. Unless you were highly accomplished at blackmail that was. And as it happened, blackmail was something he had great skill with, amongst other things.

Rubbing his face distractedly, the man's thoughts turned to what he'd been doing that morning.

Alex Rider's house was unsettling he'd decided. There was happiness and family there, that was undeniable. However, there was an undercurrent of pain and misery that seemed to be eating away at the happiness, little by little. He'd been more then happy to get the hell out of there right after leaving the phone with the note offering help.

'_Speaking of which…'_ Yassen Gregorovich knew it wouldn't be a case of 'if' Alex needed the help, but a matter of 'when'.

* * *

**I liked this chappie, but feel free to disagree!!! By the way, sorry I deleted this chappie before people could read it, I forgot to edit before posting, so I had to remove it.**


	4. Chapter Four, The AntiClimax

**Chapter Four, The Anti-climax**

****

**As per usual, I find myself touched that so many people would bother reading this dribble-fic. Thankyou all my lovely little reader/reviewer types! You earn my moose-love!!!**

* * *

For once, Alex didn't want to go back to school. He knew that his yelling at the teacher would still be popular gossip material and it would only get worse once people saw his bandaged arm.

So, he managed to get a couple more days off of school before Jack put her foot down. Violently.

"Alright Alex," She said firmly, "I've let you have a few days off so you could heal and get ready to deal with school, but this is going too far; you are going to end up repeating this year if your marks don't start picking up. You're going to go to school tomorrow, even if you're shot in the kneecap and bleeding from the eyes."

Alex made a face, not looking up from the book he was reading.

"Knowing my luck, that may well end up happening." He remarked jokingly, flipping the page.

Judging by her expression, Jack didn't find it so funny.

* * *

Alex was really sick and tired of being pointed and whispered at and it was only the second class of the day.

As luck would have it, that particular class was physical education; Alex got to run around in shorts and a shirt that did an excellent job of putting all his scars and recently bandaged arm on display, like a piece of ancient pottery in a museum.

Some people were polite enough to try to avoid staring, but most of Alex's class openly gawked. The other boy had freaked out in the changing room when they'd seen the scar from gunshot wound. He'd wearily explained what had happened though and they'd calmed down.

Still, the other, more prominent scars were not so easy to explain away. Alex's teacher, a short, wiry woman by the name of Josie Malone had pulled him to the side for a 'quick chat'.

"Look, I know you're telling everyone else that you're sick, but I know fight injuries when I see them," Ms. Malone said bluntly, "If you're in a gang or something stupid-"

"I'm not in a gang!" Alex cut in rudely, "Like you said, that's just stupid."

Ms. Malone accepted that with a nod.

"Alright then," She said challengingly, "Where'd all the scars come from then? Are you trying to tell me they're from chickenpox or something?!"

Alex glared mulishly.

"No," He growled, already annoyed, "They aren't chickenpox, but I don't think that it's any of you or anyone else's businesses were I get my scars from. I'm going to go back to soccer now, my team's one goal down, their defence is crap."

With that, Alex had turned his back to his teacher and jogged back to the field.

* * *

Even Tom wore on Alex's patience that day. Hs friend asked endless questions that were even more repetitive and aggravating then Detective Schaffer's.

"How much did it hurt?"

"What'd the guy say again?"

"What happened to the clerk?"

"_How_ much did it hurt again?"

By the end of the day, Alex was exhausted, had a splitting headache and two huge homework assignments to finish over two days. He just wanted to go home, take a shower and then quietly study for an hour or two before having dinner and falling into bed.

He was so tired that he didn't notice the three boys trailing him until ten minutes later when one of them ran up, grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him into one of the narrow alleys.

Alex put up a good fight, even managing to render one of his attacker's unconscious in the first minute of the fight, but he was just too tired and his injured arm prevented him from fighting to his full capacity. It was pretty much all over for him once the fists started pummelling his chest and stomach ruthlessly, forcing him to his knees.

For a moment, Alex thought it was over but then, a foot lashed out and smashed into his injured arm. Alex gave a gasp and promptly collapsed onto his side, cursing viciously.

Alex recognised his attacker's as the main bullies of Brookland. They were all older then him and were rumoured to be drug addicts and seriously into steroids. Gloomily taking in the boys' thick and muscled bodies, Alex could understand where the rumour had started.

The leader of the trio, a boy named Darren Winsfield loomed over him laughing, obviously about to start giving his ribs the same treatment that his arm had received.

Alex snapped then. It seemed that for as long as he could remember he'd been picked on, hurt and threatened. Well, enough was enough, he was through with being a victim.

Faster then the larger boy, Alex lunged forward, grabbing the boy's foot. Standing quickly, he smoothly pulled the boy's feet out from underneath him. Darren crashed to the ground, winded and bruised.

Alex barely had time to register the other boy before the blade of a knife sliced through the air, missing his neck by centimetres. It did however, trace a thin line across his right cheek.

Alex yelped and leapt back, furious. The other boy, a tall, slim bully named Fred snarled at him, a kitchen blade in his hands. Fred lunged again, pulling the knife in an upwards arc.

Angry, Alex lashed out with a spin kick, crashing his foot into Fred's abdomen. As the boy reeled, Alex used the hand of his uninjured hand to send the knife clattering to the ground. In true cowardly style, Fred took off running the instant he lost his knife, limping a little as he went.

Sighing in relief, Alex sat down on the ground. Then, something large and heavy barrelled into him.

It was Darren; the thug hadn't stayed down long. Tired and injured as he was, Alex didn't have the ability to fight with his usual strength and was quite alarmed when he found himself pinned to the ground with Darren crouching over him. Alex knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, Darren's fist slammed into is face, again and again. Alex writhed wildly, but Darren outweighed him by at least ten kilos. He knew blood was streaming down his face and he wanted to shout from the pain.

Seeing stars and desperate, Alex's hands blindly scrabbled over the ground for something to defend himself with. Closing his fingers over the first thing he found, Alex punched Darren in the chest.

Darren gave a terrible howl and fell away from Alex as if burned. Horrified, Alex realized that his hands had found the knife, he'd stabbed Darren in the chest!

"No!" Alex cried out; frantic with panic and disgust, "Oh Christ no! Darren, Darren listen to me, just stay still whilst I…"

It was no use though, Darren ignored him, continuing to thrash wildly and fumble at the knife still embedded in his chest, kicking Alex by accident in the ribs so that he couldn't help. In a matter of moments, the pool of red grew to a size where it and Darren's life could not exist at the same time. Darren gave a last, choked off gurgle and died where he was, on the cold, bloody concrete.

Shaking, Alex cringed away from the body, disgusted with himself. He'd killed a boy who was not, perhaps, a very nice person, but a child never the less!! He'd killed a schoolmate, he was a monster.

For a few minutes, Alex just stayed frozen, shaking and trying not to cry, feeling like a pathetic five year old. The thought of the police crossed his mind and he very nearly did start crying then. Alex only just managed to hold it together, face in his hands.

Then, born out of desperation and terror perhaps, an option presented itself.

'…**I'm still available if you need help…'**

Alex looked up slowly, fishing the mysterious phone warily from his pocket. True, he needed help, but was this important enough by whoever had left the phone's standards?

Swallowing painfully, Alex decided it would have to be, he was frantic. He hit speed-dial and the other end was picked up straight away.

"Yes?" Even from the first syllable, Alex knew he knew the voice. He just wondered if he was going insane.

"I…" Alex had to swallow again, "You said if I needed help, I should call and-"

"Where are you?" The voice interrupted smoothly.

Alex was glad he knew this part of London.

"Between Westley and Forgus, there's an alley…" He was close to a breakdown; he could feel and hear it in his voice. Perhaps whoever he'd called could as well, because there was a hint of urgency in the cool, smooth voice.

"I'm on my way, stay where you are."

Alex just hung up and replaced the phone in his pocket. Trembling as if from the cold, Alex sat hunched up miserably against the wall, trying to avoid looking at Darren's body. Only now did he allow a few salty tears to escape and run down the sides of his face. Only a few though; Alex knew that if he lost it now he wouldn't be able to get control back in a hurry.

* * *

Alex must have passed out or fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, there was a dark silver Maserati GranTurismo parked at the alley's entrance and a predictably familiar face was looking down at him.

"I wasn't sure if this counted as a situation that I needed help for, but I called anyway." Alex rasped, showing no surprise at seeing Yassen. He'd had a suspicion as to the identity of his mystery helper growing over the last few days. Which was odd considering Yassen was supposed to be dead. But then, he was an odd child and his whole life had made a habit out of being pretty damn odd.

The Russian took a quick glance around the alley, taking in the blood, body, and bruised Alex.

"Judging by the looks of things, you had every right to call." Yassen replied wryly, "And aren't you shocked to see me, especially so well and remarkably alive?"

Alex raised a brow.

"Actually, I'm not altogether surprised, although I am wondering if anyone ever dies the first time 'round?"

Yassen glanced at Darren again, making a face that Alex was a bit disgusted to recognize as a smirk. He didn't understand how anyone, even a man like Yassen could smirk at a teenage boy's death.

"He did."

Alex didn't reply, choosing to stumble to his feet instead. He felt like there was a fist clenching his heart, and the panic was back again. He'd killed someone, he was a monster!

Yassen gestured to the car.

"Come on."

Alex was confused.

"Are you giving me a lift home?"

Yassen shook his head, a little exasperated. He understood that Alex was shaken, but at the same time, asking if he was being given a lift home was the definition of 'stupid question'.

"No, you're coming with me, you can't go home." Yassen answered, trying to be patient.

Alex frowned, but followed the Russian anyway.

"Why?"

"Because," The Russian said, explaining the obvious, "You killed someone; the police will be looking or you. There was a boy running from the alley when I arrived, he will have told someone by now. He saw me arrive, so the police will know to look for me as well, we need to go now."

With a jolt, Alex remembered there'd been a third boy; he'd been incapacitated so fast that Alex had forgotten all about him, he must have regained consciousness after Alex passed out.

That was enough to quash the rest of Alex's misgivings about Yassen's actions. He climbed into the front passenger seat of the car without arguing further.

Looking around, Alex made a face.

"A little conspicuous, isn't it?" He asked as the car pulled out onto the road smoothly.

"Yes, but it's fast which is always important." Yassen replied tersely, flicking his eyes to the rear-view mirror, "And we're going to need it I think."

Alex looked over at the Russian sharply.

"What do you-"

The rest of his words were lost as Yassen suddenly wrenched the steering wheel to the right. The car spun around in a 360 degree turn, but not before Alex saw the flashing blue lights. Police then.

Coming out of the screeching turn, Yassen pressed down hard on the accelerator. The car leapt forwards and Alex felt his heart jump into his throat.

"Put your seatbelt on." Yassen ordered, not taking his eyes away from the road. Alex did so without a single word of protest. He cringed as the car screeched into a sharp corner, gaining valuable time and distance over the following police cars that were chasing. He jumped as Yassen suddenly spoke.

"Open the centre console." The Russian said calmly, as if they were taking a Sunday drive to the park. Alex didn't move at first, too petrified to tear his fingers away from where they were digging into the seat's leather.

Noticing Alex's inaction, Yassen looked over at the teen, wearing an expression of (falsely) polite surprise. It was enough to prompt Alex into doing as he was told straight away.

"Pass me the bottle inside."

Alex did so, noting the pills inside and the medical label.

"About time. Bad migraine..." Yassen muttered. The Russian took one of his hands away from the wheel (Alex resisted the urge to whimper) and shook out a couple of pills, swallowing them whole.

"Shit they taste bad." The Russian remarked conversationally, glancing into the rear view mirror again, "They don't give up do they?"

He meant the police, the lights were behind them again and starting to gain, taking advantage of Yassen's distraction.

"Must be the car," Yassen remarked, pushing the speedometer past 100, "Police hate sports cars."

"No, I actually think it's the homicide, but that's just me." Alex countered, finally reaching through his smothering terror to find his voice. He wondered if being a smart-ass was enough to get him killed with this man.

"I could render a fourteen year old unconscious without any effort, using only my hands, especially when said fourteen year old is injured." Yassen said pointedly, not without a slightly sadistic sort of cheer.

Alex scowled, and then swore out loud as the car suddenly went from 110 to 0. The police cars shot straight by and Yassen deftly turned a corner and before Alex quite regained control over his stomach, he felt it sink as they descended down a ramp and into a crowded underground parking lot.

Yassen parked the car neatly in one of the back slots and switched the engine off calmly. The Russian opened his door and got out. He raised a brow and regarded Alex with an expression of mild interest.

Alex hadn't gotten out of the car; he was still sitting strapped into his seat and staring straight ahead with a look that was half nausea, half terror. Yassen noticed for the first time that Alex was still bleeding. The Russian frowned, thinking of how much the leather upholstery costed.

"You're getting blood everywhere, get out of the car please."

Alex slowly looked over at Yassen, fighting the urge to both moan in pain or projectile vomit (thus messing up the Russian's precious car even worse). He managed to choke out a sentence.

"I've had the shit kicked out of me and all you care about is the car? That's fucking cold hearted."

Yassen narrowed his eyes at the teen, thinking that if it weren't for the fact that Alex was already in a bad state he'd probably have been tempted to hit the insolent brat himself. He managed to keep his temper under control, which was a lot harder these days.

"I said please." The Russian pointed out dangerously.

Alex frowned, inwardly gagging at the taste of blood in his mouth. 'Please' was probably as good as he was going to get from this asshole. He was starting to wonder if maybe the Russian had just been screwing with his head, offering his help and then treating him like shit. Still, he was scared, miserable and in a lot of pain; he wasn't going to bother with manners.

"Oh of _course_ you did," Alex drawled sarcastically, "I completely forgot, 'please' makes it all _better_, doesn't it?"

Yassen glared wordlessly at Alex, trying not to grind his teeth.

"This isn't accomplishing anything," The Russian said eventually, after pushing his mounting anger down, "I suggest you keep your mouth shut and just follow me."

Alex did follow Yassen as the Russian turned away and started walking, but he ignored the 'keep your mouth shut' part.

"What happens when the police find the car?" He asked, breathing heavily because of his bruised ribs. They walked up onto the road outside, the sudden sunlight making Alex wince.

Yassen suddenly looked regretful. He drew what looking like one of those remote control locking consoles for a car.

"Just as well you reminded me," The Russian said, "Although I spent a fucking fortune on that car."

They walked a little further and then, Yassen pressed the button on the console. There was a sudden explosive _**thwump**_ from behind them and Alex knew that if he turned around, he'd see smoke and maybe flames coming from the entrance of the parking lot.

Ignoring the screams and panic of the crowds, Yassen looked over at Alex.

"How far can you walk?" The Russian asked.

Happy that Yassen was finally bothering to ask, Alex opened his mouth to reply. Yassen cut him off though.

"Doesn't matter, you'll just have to cope," The Russian shrugged, turning away, "It's not that far anyway."

Determined not give the Russian the satisfaction of his misery, Alex grit his teeth and trudged after Yassen through the chaos and panicked crowds, still bleeding and battered.

* * *

**Umm, yeah, I dunno bout you guys but I'd be way pissed if I was Alex.**

**Anyway, here's my new set of questions for you:**

**1) Should I arrange a little misadventure and a small sidestory for Detective Schaffer as he tries to figure out both the armed robbery and why Alex seemingly murdered a schoolmate???**

**2) Upon discovering that Yassen knows Alex, should Donati just be mean (like K-Unit) or scheme to actually kill Alex?**

**3) Should Yassen get a new sports car:D **


	5. Chapter Five, So there is a plan?

**Chapter Five, So there is a plan?**

**I find myself apologising for my poor updating times once more...**

**Disclaimer: Hahahaha! Yeah right!**

* * *

Trying to manage the short walk, Alex decided to think of all the really positive things in his life. The list was depressingly short though, so he quickly gave up on that. Instead, he went through a mental list of all his 'Hollywood moments'. 

_Swimming with Sayle's stupid jellyfish… Shooting up the museum… Surfing the Cribber…Fighting Conrad…_

He stopped abruptly, thinking of Sarov. The usual horror of the deranged man's final moments trickled through him and Alex came to a halt, trying to get a grip on himself. His list of 'Hollywood moments' had quickly become a list of 'Ridiculously near death experiences'. Unlike his 'positive things in my life' list, it was very long and even more depressing.

So caught up in his pity party for one as he was, Alex was a little surprised to discover that he and Yassen were standing outside an apartment complex. It was an ugly building too, a stark grey and squat with narrow, barred windows. Looking around, Alex recognized the area as being near the Albert Embankment.

"Nice to see you've returned to Planet Earth," Yassen remarked, swiping an electronic key in the slot by the doors, "I wondered if you were going into shock."

Alex frowned and painfully followed the Russian into the lobby and up a staircase. He mentally cursed whoever had designed this building without an elevator.

"What would you have done if that had have been the case?"

Yassen shrugged.

"Slap you into reality?"

Alex shook his head grimly.

"Empathy really isn't your thing, is it?"

The Russian looked like he considered 'empathy' as a distasteful notion.

"I'm not your Mother; I'm not going to make a fuss of you."

Alex struggled to think of some smart reply whilst Yassen led the way to an apartment on the 13th floor (Alex vaguely registered the cliché of unlucky 13).

Walking in after Yassen, Alex looked around, slowly taking in his surroundings. Silently, he absorbed the beige walls, slightly beat-up furniture and scuffed Oak floorboards. The bay windows would have supplied a nice view, except they were covered in black duct tape. He figured it was a security measure, to stop snipers or anyone else from being able to see in. He wondered if he should point out that having the windows covered like that made them very obvious therefore making the idea of secrecy pointless.

"Quite the penthouse." Alex managed, clenching his jaw to keep a straight face.

Yassen looked up from where he was looking through the fridge in the apartment's kitchen. The kitchen at least, was well-kept and modern.

"Have I mentioned how much sarcasm pisses me off, especially when it comes from a lippy brat?" The Russian remarked, closing the fridge after producing what looked suspiciously like a beer.

"Now there's a surprise." Alex muttered.

Yassen shot him a frown.

"What was that?"

Alex shrugged, gritting his teeth at the waves of pain that action sent shooting through his entire, aching body.

"Nothing important," He said, "Where's armed robber number two?"

Yassen made a face at the mention of his partner as he took a gulp from his drink.

"Donati?" The Russian queried politely.

Alex rolled his eyes.

"The man tried to shoot me, I don't give a shit was his name is; I just want to know where he is."

Judging by the Russian's expression, Alex guessed that Yassen was no fonder of Donati then he was. Still, he wasn't going to let that get in the way of being a tight-lipped bastard.

"He's busy elsewhere," The Russian said evasively, "Which is all you need to concern yourself with. Apart from your split lip, severe bruising and a rib that I suspect is fractured."

Alex frowned.

"What makes you think that?"

Yassen shrugged as if it was obvious. Which it probably was to him.

"The way you move; you're actions are all very conservative, you also wince every time you breathe in."

Alex knew the Russian was right.

"Do I get any medical attention then?" He asked wearily, "Or would you prefer it if I went and died quietly in the corner?"

Yassen shrugged.

"It's your choice, but since I had to blow up my car, which cost me most of my salary, I'd prefer if you survived and made my sacrifice worthwhile."

Alex smirked, secretly smug about that.

Maybe Yassen caught that smirk, because he threw the bandages and painkillers at Alex with more force then what was strictly necessary.

Alex looked blankly at the medical supplies. He realized that he'd never really learnt any first aid. It seemed like a drastic shortcoming, considering his track record.

Yassen rolled his eyes, taking another swig from the beer.

"Bind your ribs, there may be more then one fractured. Then, fix your arm up."

"Huh?" Alex looked at his arm, perplexed. There was a large that seemed to be responsible for most of the blood covering him; he must have cut it when he'd been thrown to the ground.

"Oh…" Alex trailed off, feeling a little light headed. He glanced over at Yassen. The Russian looked annoyed.

"You have no idea how to do any sort of first aid, do you?"

Alex tried not to look sheepish.

"I did some first aid in the Brecon Beacons, but their attitude towards me was 'if you're hurt, just pray kid coz you're pretty much fucked'."

Yassen gave an exasperated sigh.

"For Christ's sake," The Russian growled, "Do I have to do everything myself?"

Alex cringed.

"No, I can fix myself up fine if you just tell me what to-"

Yassen cut him off with a glare. The Russian slammed his beer down on the granite kitchen counter and walked over to Alex, yanking the bandages from the teen's hands.

"I am going to teach you something here, so shut the fuck up and listen, because I don't nice things very often and I won't repeat myself." Yassen grumbled, "Now take your shirt off."

Alex couldn't help it, he burst out laughing, ignoring the pain. He was practically in tears, which made him suspect that maybe he was just a touch hysterical, but he couldn't stop laughing.

Yassen was only just restraining himself from punching Alex in the face.

"You know what," The Russian snapped, "If you're going to be immature, you can figure this out for yourself."

Alex managed to speak.

"N-no!" He choked out, still giggling, "I d-don't mean to…l-laugh, I'm just r-really upset and-"

Yassen just shook his head.

"I don't want to know," He sighed, "Just do as I say."

Biting his lip to stop further displays of mirth, Alex nodded and peeled off his shirt that was sticking to him due to the half congealed patches of blood.

"Shit," Yassen said with raised brows, "There's a story I'd be interested in hearing."

The Russian meant the old sniper scar of course. Alex shrugged.

"Not much to tell," He said casually, laughter dying, "Got shot by your employers crossing the road. I guess they were mad because I didn't use a pedestrian crossing."

Yassen just shook his head.

"Right then… That raises some other questions though, like what the fuck have you been doing since our last meeting? It must be something unusual if you ended up getting shot."

Alex grimaced.

"All questions will be answered. Once I don't feel like my chest was kicked in."

* * *

A short time later, Alex still felt lousy but he thought maybe Yassen would be slightly less ill-tempered if he just kept the Russian happy. He decided to share his story. After all, Yassen had been nice enough to teach him how to deal with a fractured rib.

"So, what happened after the whole fuckup on Air Force One?" Yassen asked, recovering his beer, "Which by the way, I won't be repeating; you can save your own life next time."

Rolling his eyes, Alex sat down in an armchair.

"Well, I first chucked a mental because of the whole 'I knew your Father and oh, he was a killer' thing."

Yassen actually looked a little embarrassed.

"Guess I should've gotten my facts first, but go on."

Alex smirked.

"Well, as part of that pre-mentioned mental, I decided I was going to go to Venice _as_ _advised_ and find Scorpia, _also_ as I was advised. There, I defected for awhile before returning to MI6 after I failed my first assignment which was to shoot Mrs. Jones. After that I went back to Scorpia undercover and found out about Operation Invisible sword. I stopped that from happening and Scorpia must have been upset, because they decided to shoot me in revenge. Oh yeah, I've been into space and took on Scorpia and a Snakehead again too. That satisfy you?"

Yassen looked incredulous.

"Holy shit," The Russian exclaimed, "It's almost like God sat down one day after getting pissed and said, 'okay, what can I do to fuck this boy's life up as monumentally as possible'."

Alex raised a brow.

"Okay," He said, "What about you? What's been happening in your life?"

Yassen smiled humourlessly.

"Oh, nothing really. Just recovered partially from a near-death experience, lost everything including my standing with Scorpia and as a result was sent to processing recruits in disgrace. I lost my yacht too, in case you're interested."

Alex made a face; he had bad memories of that yacht.

"So you tried to kill that Jones woman?" Yassen asked interestedly, "What stopped you? Did she have bodyguards?"

Alex looked humiliated and sad.

"No, couldn't do it. I did fire the gun, but it would have missed her. Besides she had bullet-proof glass protecting her."

Yassen shook his head.

"You really are stupid, aren't you? First of all you get yourself roped into the MI6 thing, then you don't get out and then, when you're given a chance to take out one of the people who've screwed your life up so much, you can't do something as simple as pull a trigger!"

Alex squirmed.

"Turns out I'm not very good with the revenge thing." He muttered, "Or the assassination thing."

Yassen sighed.

"I guess I'm required to say that at fourteen that's a good thing?"

Alex shrugged awkwardly; not quite comfortable with the topic of conversation.

There was a long pause and then Yassen stirred, standing from his chair and walking across the room.

"I just remembered, there's something I meant to give you," he called, "I'll be back in a minute."

The Russian disappeared into a bedroom before Alex could so much as open his mouth to protest.

Shaking his head, Alex gingerly heaved himself to his feet; a little alarmed by the way he was shaking all over. He decided he needed a snack, he honestly could not remember the last time he'd eaten.

Regarding the stainless steel fridge mildly, Alex wondered if there'd actually be any food in there or if Yassen existed simply by sucking any joy or normality out of a person.

Surprisingly enough, there actually wasn't very much to choose from.

_Beer, vodka, two week out of date cheese and a giant carton of protein shakes…Riigghhhtt…_

Deciding that Yassen's oddly sparse eating habits were really none of his concern, Alex looked back up at the fridge. Yanking the heavy, magnetized door was painful in his condition, but he managed it. One thing caught his attention.

Bass. A six-pack of it.

Alex seriously considered it, chewing his bottom lip which ended up splitting it open again.

So focused on his internal moral battle, Alex missed the sound of the front door opening.

'_It's not like Yassen would care…Just one…I'm not intending to make a habit out of this…'_

Quickly grabbing one of the beers, Alex shut the door, turned away and walked straight into Donati. He dropped the Bass.

"Ooohhh _Shit_!"

Donati snarled at the sight of him, teeth bared and fists clenched.

"That's fuckin' right kid!" He shouted, "You're dog meat!"

Deciding then that inaction would likely prove fatal, Alex bolted; diving over the counter and into the living room, plates and cutlery crashing to the ground behind him.

Donati wasn't far behind, charging at him like an enraged bull.

"Get back here you fucking brat!" He bellowed, anger making his English difficult. He lunged at Alex over the coffee table, spilling a cup of cold coffee over a pile of newspapers.

Terrified, Alex jumped backwards, losing his footing and falling backwards onto the couch.

He gulped as Donati closed in on him.

* * *

Yassen had just found what he was looking for in a shoebox under his bed along with the few other valuable possessions of his when he heard the front door open.

Mildly concerned, Yassen stood quickly. He got to his bedroom door just as the yelling started. Concern quickly turning into alarm, the Russian ripped the door open, just in time to see Alex dive over the kitchen counter with Donati in pursuit. Perplexed and if truth be told, pretty amused, Yassen could only stare. It was only once Alex was reduced to throwing the glass coasters on the coffee table at Donati who had murder in his eyes that Yassen acted.

Alex was down to his last coaster when Donati suddenly cursed and stopped dead in his tracks. He threw it anyway, just to be sure. He cringed when it glanced off of Donati's shoulder and nearly hit Yassen in the face. The Russian ducked just in time, straightening up to shoot Alex a dirty look and press the edge of a knife he'd picked up against Donati's throat. Alex wondered if he knew any adults that didn't solve problems with lethal weapons.

"You'll have to forgive my French," Yassen said dangerously, "But what the _fuck_ is going on here?!"

Donati started to growl something in impolite sounding Italian, but Yassen suddenly cut him off.

"You know what asshole?" The Russian snapped, "I actually think I'd rather hear from Alex."

Alex licked his lips, nervously glancing between Yassen, who was obviously angry and impatient and Donati, whose eyes clearly said that he'd better choose his response carefully if he wanted to avoid injury in the near future.

"Well?" Yassen demanded, sounding regretful he ever got involved.

Alex made his decision: immediate safety over revenge.

"Nothing happened," He said carefully, hoping his slightly shaking hands didn't give him away. He hid them in his pockets. "It was a misunderstanding."

Yassen stared flatly at him.

"You call throwing furnishings at someone a 'misunderstanding'?"

Alex discreetly glanced over at Donati again. The man's eyes were narrowed and he kept running his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully. He was unnerving at best, downright savage at worst.

"Yes," Alex agreed evenly, "A misunderstanding…A violent misunderstanding, but nothing more."

Apparently, Yassen ran out of patience right then because the Russian pointed angrily at the door he'd just entered the room from. Not needing a verbal explanation, Alex head hastily in that direction, edgily giving both Yassen and Donati a wide berth.

Once Alex was out of earshot, Yassen rounded on Donati.

"If you know what is good for you, there'd better not be any more _misunderstandings_!" The Russian snarled. "It's hard enough keeping him alive and trusting me without you giving into your murderous urges!"

Donati smiled coldly.

"I wonder how much he'd _trust_ you if he knew _exactly_ what happened to you; why you're nearly penniless and the reason you don't eat. Or better yet, why don't I tell him to ask why you have to take a pile of pills every day just to keep the chest pain under control?"

If Yassen had been furious before, he was near losing it now. He looked pale and his eyes were little more then vicious pits of rage.

"I will kill you if you dare," The Russian hissed, "I don't care if Scorpia's interested in you, I will fucking kill you if you say anything to him. Understand?"

Donati smiled brightly.

"Oh yeah," he said calmly, "I think I understand very well indeed."

* * *

Alex wasn't surprised by how bare Yassen's room was. It would have been oddly contrasting the Russian's personality for the room to be overdone and exorbitantly furnished.

What did surprise him though was how unused the room looked. Alex presumed that the Russian had been here for awhile, but the bed was bare and the floorboards were mostly coated in a thick layer of dust.

He didn't have long to look though; Yassen came storming into the room just then, looking so brutal that Alex inadvertently backed away, bumping against a wall.

Perhaps the Russian noticed Alex's reaction, because he seemed to take a moment to bring himself back under control. He breathed out weakly and looked at Alex grimly.

"I just want to know why you have a death wish."

Alex frowned.

"Excuse me?"

Yassen looked frustrated by Alex's confusion.

"A man who you _know_ is a killer attacks you, and you don't call for help?"

Alex felt very stupid.

"I was concentrating on running," he defended himself lamely, "I didn't think-"

"-Which is what will get you killed one day." Yassen finished, suddenly weary. "Just don't be so stupid next time."

A little concerned by the prospect of a 'next time', Alex jumped when Yassen thrust his hand out. There was what looked like a piece of paper in it. Cautiously, Alex took it.

And stopped breathing. Listened to his suddenly racing heart.

Helen and John Rider. His mother and father.

They were sitting together at a mosaic patterned table, evidently sitting outdoors at a restaurant. There were empty plates and half full glasses of wine on the table.

Helen was smiling openly, hair pulled back from her eyes and blushing slightly.

John was more closed off, eyes guarded but undeniably happy never the less. He had his arm around his wife and was caught in the act of kissing Helen's hair.

Eyes devouring the picture, Alex bit his bottom lip and wondered how to get his heart back under control.

"I found it after Malta, it's yours now."

Alex looked up at Yassen, something suddenly occurring to him.

"Who took the picture?"

Yassen shrugged awkwardly.

"A waiter, they're in Greece."

"Oh." Was all Alex could manage for a moment. Then, "What happens now?"

Yassen looked a little hesitant.

"Nothing until I hear from Scorpia."

Alex cringed at the name and Yassen realized what he'd said.

"They don't know you're here," The Russian assured Alex, "And Donati doesn't know how to contact them to tell them. I just need the official okay to dispose of Donati before I can go ahead with the rest of the plan."

Alex raised a brow.

"Oh, there _is_ a plan then?"

Yassen smiled humourlessly.

"Yes there's a plan, smartass. You're wanted for the murder of a classmate and I'm wanted for significantly more. MI6 won't help because they'll be at risk of their use of you being discovered. My guess is that they're already having difficulties repositioning the police's interest."

Alex frowned.

"Why would the police be so interested in me?"

Yassen's smile was lost to a scowl.

"That detective, Schaffer, he caught a tiny hint of ambiguity in the difficulty of attaining any sort of information on you. The issue with the hijacked crane would have added to that and the man decided then and there he was determined to get to the bottom of what was going on. Schaffer has the constitution of a bull, once he charges for something he doesn't stop until either he's got it or he runs head first into something. The man has connections inside Special Operations anyway."

Alex looked at Yassen suspiciously.

"You sound very familiar with Detective Schaffer."

Yassen shrugged.

"There was an assignment involving going undercover in the Metropolitan police."

Alex smiled in spite of himself.

"I would have thought that the London Police would have been too small-time for you."

Yassen's return smile was slightly feral looking.

"Not when you're being offered 2 million pounds and a new car it's not."

Alex laughed.

"Of course, money's everything."

Yassen shot Alex a look.

"It is when you have nothing else." The Russian said coldly.

Alex squirmed, startled by the sudden mood swing in the Russian.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

Yassen's lips were pressed together grimly as he shook his head.

"-It doesn't matter."

Utterly confused by what he'd said wrong, Alex looked at his feet awkwardly.

"What's the rest of the plan?"

Yassen looked disinterested now.

"You can't go to MI6 for help, you can't go home; the only thing left to do is leave the country. I'm going to Tunisia; unless you want to try and prove your innocence to the police who've already decided you're guilty I suggest you come with me."

Alex looked up startled.

"What?!" He burst out, "Tunisia? Are you crazy?! I can't run from the country! This is just a huge mess, surely I can talk to the police?!"

Yassen glared at him.

"You really think that I wouldn't rather just leave you here?! The only reason I'm including you in this is because there's no other choice for you!"

Alex glared as well.

"I don't believe you that MI6 can't help."

Yassen was frustrated.

"That's because you don't understand the way MI6 work!" He shouted. "They can only use you so long as no one outside of a select circle knows about you! The instant anyone on the outside finds out, they drop you! Straight away everything they gave you is withdrawn; money, house, _everything_! That woman that takes care of you-"

"-Jack."

"-Looses her visa! You go to an orphanage. Worse then that, they'd probably have to kill you just to cover their tracks and make sure no other country or organization can use you the way they did! Don't you understand _any_ of that?!"

Alex was speechless, he'd had no idea. For the first time ever, he realized exactly how trapped and helpless MI6 had him.

"They'd kill me…"

Yassen looked roughly sympathetic.

"Yes," he growled, "They'd make sure no one ever knew that there was an Alex Rider."

Terrified, Alex looked up at the Russian.

"But people know who I am! Jack, friends, teachers…"

"Alex," Yassen said quietly, "Weren't you listening? They'd kill anyone and everyone who could reveal their secret."

Alex's eyes were huge and every bruise, cut and injury on his body ached.

"Everyone? How can they simply wipe out that many people?"

Yassen shook his head grimly.

"Those close to you would have car crashes and heart attacks or even be caught in a gang shoot-out. Others, like your classmates, would be blackmailed into silence or told you'd died or been jailed. No one would ever dare ask questions."

Alex swallowed dryly and breathed out.

"So leaving the country really is my only choice then?" He asked sadly.

Yassen nodded.

"Yes, but it's more complicated then that; you'd have to start all over again. You wouldn't be able to come back here; at least, not as Alex Rider."

Alex frowned.

"All this over a police investigation?"

Yassen shrugged.

"This is Schaffer we're talking about. The man will find out about you and he will do everything in his power to publicise it. If he's smart, which he usually is, he'll do so before MI6 can react. Once he's done that, MI6 won't be able to kill him without arousing enormous suspicion. The government is about to be thrown into chaos and trust me, you don't want to be caught in that because chances are, you won't come out alive."

Alex knew Yassen was telling the truth.

"It's just as well I value staying alive over pride," he muttered, "Otherwise I'd probably say no."

The Russian raised a brow.

"So that's as close as a 'yes' as I'm going to get then?"

Alex scowled.

"Yes! Yes to Tunisia! Happy?"

Yassen smiled humourlessly.

"Ecstaticly."

* * *

**Okay, only two questions this time**

**1) What do you think that Donati was hinting at when he was talking to Yassen after attacking Alex? Big points if you can not only approxiamate, but be very specific with your guess. **

**2)Donati's gonna die, but I want a specific method of execution. Nothing too outlandish please, but feel free to be original!**


	6. Chapter Six, Yippie Ki Yay

**Chapter Six, ****Yippee ki yay**

**Hey guys, sorry about the slow updating!**

**Disclaimer: Anthony Horowitz is a girl?**

* * *

'_Information is like a toddler's __stuffed bear,' _Schaffer thought reflectively, _'It's only valuable if someone else wants it.'_

But then, he didn't mind that it was turning out to be extremely difficult to get any solid information on this kid, Alex. He enjoyed a challenge and there wasn't much of that in drunken drug addicts and bumbling robbers. The only thing that was bothering him was the logic that whoever was hiding this kid's details was obviously high up and there was bound to be a damn good reason for making a fourteen year old boy all but disappear. 

"Hey Julian, anything new on the Rider kid?"

Julian Schaffer visibly cringed at the mention of his first name. It was a cheap parting shot from an alcoholic Father who'd been forcibly removed from his life by his determined Mother. Still, Fred Wilkins, his best friend in the force, meant well. It wasn't his fault that he had the short term memory of a mentally disabled earthworm with these sorts of things. Julian swiveled around slowly, trying not to look as irate as he felt.

"No Fred, same as before." He said with a slight strain flavoring his words, picking up a pencil from his industrial style desk. He promptly began chewing on the end of it. It was a stress related habit, the bouquet of nibbled wooden spears in the little coffee mug on his desk attested to the pressures of the job.

Fred surveyed his friend with the calm sort of equilibrium that made him such a good police officer. 

"Alright Julian (_cringecringe_), I was just asking. It's just that the boss is getting tetchy, that woman was calling again."

Julian felt for his boss; the woman in question was some American who took care of the Rider kid. She'd been calling non-stop after receiving notice that Rider was missing. Julian had thought that she might have shut up when they'd mentioned the charge of murder (and Julian was sure it was murder too, Rider was renown for being a strange one and he'd done some research: the dead kid, Darren, was supposed to be a real thug and even more interesting, had supposedly bullied Alex before. Seemed Rider had finally cracked and decided to slot Darren.), but no, she'd just switched tactics to the standard 'how dare you, my precious little _insert relative or other acquaintance name here_ would never do something like that! You'll be sorry blablabla…'

Whatever. Julian knew that Rider was as guilty as sin; they had the knife with his prints and Darren's blood, Rider's blood and more interestingly, one of the other kids apparently saw some guy come pick Rider up from the alley; obviously Alex had known he was in the shit and had decided that it was time to split. 

Now they just had to get him. That was proving to be the hard part. Julian had entered Rider into the system but no more then five minutes later, he'd gotten the message that his inquest had been deflected by someone with Intel clearance. So, Julian had done the smart thing: he'd spoken with someone on the inside.

Julian had known that his contact would have no problems getting him the information, but he'd expected a bit of a delay. That's why he jumped when the phone on his desk rang suddenly, knocking over the coffee mug of pencils over.

* * *

MI6 were careful; they had left Alex alone for awhile now, but they'd still watched. They'd seen him quickly and shockingly plummet down into his depression, but they'd kept the line 'we're watching not interfering'. So, they'd withheld any sort of assistance.

Well, that wasn't true; it hadn't been MI6 that had done that. It had been Alan Blunt. 

There was a reason for his devastatingly effective sadism and indifference. He knew that a damaged, vulnerable Alex was much easier to coerce then a strong, willful Alex. They'd need him again, but when that happened was unknowable, so Alan knew that if he wanted to be able to call on Alex, he had to keep him in his derelict state.

One thing Alan Blunt hadn't thought of though, was resistance. And from the most unlikely source as well.

As unlikely as it was, Julian Schaffer had briefly dated inside MI6. The woman he'd dated had stayed a good friend even after they'd inevitably broken up due to the age difference. She called him with things that Blunt didn't feel the need to inform police of and Alex Rider was one of those things. Alan Blunt may not have cared about Alex, but she did.

Tulip Jones cared a lot about Alex.

* * *

After quickly fixing the pencils up, Julian answered the phone.

"Detective Schaffer." He panted into the phone, trying unsuccessfully to push all the pencils rolling around his desk into a neat pile with his free hand.

"Are we in a disagreement? I thought we were on first name basis."

Julian gave up on trying to organize the out of control pencils. They all promptly rolled off his desk and onto the floor.

"Sorry Tulip," He muttered, idly thinking that he must be the only person who was happily allowed to call her such, "I wasn't expecting a call so soon. What's going on?"

"There's been a…development. Things are about to become very interesting."

Julian cringed, that phrase was bad news in his experience. 

"You mean the shit is going to hit the fan?"

He thought Tulip sounded amused by his obscenity.

"In a manner of speaking." She agreed wryly, "You're going to need everything I can get you. Can I come over?"

Julian started, a meeting meant hard evidence.

"Umm, sure," He said, "When can you-?"

"I'm here now."

* * *

Mrs. Jones may not have been attractive, but her presence was demanding enough that every set of male eyes (well, almost every set; Officers Mike Carry and Bob Trundle were not as interested in women as they lead their colleagues to believe) followed her through the station. Julian had to resist the urge to tell all of them to sod off and get back to whatever the hell it was they did here. 

"We couldn't have met in a more discreet spot?" Julian asked quietly, glaring over at Mrs. Jones' shoulder at a grinning Constable Lukerson. 

She shook her head, looking grim.

"No, I need access to a non-MI6 computer system; Blunt's got everyone under watch at Liverpool. This is bad news I'm delivering, he doesn't want it out."

Julian suddenly felt suspicious.

"And you're telling me?" He asked warily, suspecting a trap, "Why?"

Mrs. Jones looked nervous now, shocking Julian. He'd never seen her look anything but utterly assured.

"It's about Rider." she said slowly.

Julian frowned.

"I don't understand the connection MI6 has with him; Rider's just a juvenile delinquent."

Mrs. Jones looked even more worried now.

"Not exactly," she muttered, lowering her voice, "He's actually an MI6 asset."

Julian froze, sheer shock immobilizing his train of thought.

"What?" He demanded, "I'm afraid I don't understand you, I-"

Mrs. Jones held up her hand to stop the cascade of words.

"Listen to me Julian, this is worse then you realize! This 'kid' as you say is a child who's been caught up in all this! His name is Alex Rider and his life is in danger because of what I'm about to show you!"

Julian felt like he was out of control on roller-skates.

"I…He's…What!"

Mrs. Jones just shook her head fiercely and pushed Julian out of the way. She leaned forward over his computer (being ever so slightly obsessive-compulsive, Julian cringed at the rough way she handled it), and inserted a USB. Immediately, the report Julian had been working on vanished (Julian thanked God for auto-save) and a black screen took over. A box popped up.

Password:

Ten years of police instinct kicked in and Julian found himself trying to guess the password that Mrs. Jones typed in rapid-fire. She shot him a dirty look and pressed enter. Another screen popped up, windows media player.

"We got this from a nightclub from across the street." She explained tersely, "Watch carefully."

She clicked play.

Julian watched as Alex was dragged struggling into the alley and shoved to the ground. He felt a wave of shock and disgust as he watched a group of boys thrashed Alex with a merciless savagery. He was also ashamed though, he realized that the whole investigation was crashing around his ears; Alex's attack on Darren was looking more and more like self-defense as oppose to cold-blooded murder. 

Then, it happened. Darren had Alex pinned one minute, and then he was dying on the concrete the next. Everyone else scattered, leaving Alex fumbling at Darren helplessly. Then, seemingly exhausted and badly injured, Alex made a quick call (Julian wondered at that) and then passed out.

"Who did he-"

"Just watch," Mrs. Jones grunted, "There's a time-lapse."

The screen jittered, and then settled on an image of one of the unconscious attackers fleeing the scene. Just then, an absurdly expensive looking car pulled up and a man got out. He walked over to Alex, woke him up and then the two of them hurried back to the car. Mrs. Jones froze the image there and blew it up.

"This is where we knew that…that the shit was about to hit the fan, to use your terminology." She said grimly. 

Julian frowned, he didn't get it.

"I don't understand."

Mrs. Jones frowned ferociously at her ex-boyfriend.

"You don't fucking know who that is!" She hissed, causing Julian to jump. She never used curse words. So, he took a closer look and then felt his insides clench. 

"Mother_fucker_!" He snarled, "Yassen Gregorovich. Interpol wanted number 1 at the moment. We thought he was in London, but we weren't having any luck tracking him. The asshole's as cunning as a fox, we nearly had him last time he was in London but the affair with Sayle shifted things about… What the hell is he doing with your asset!"

Mrs. Jones looked sour. She had a bad history with Yassen Gregorovich that no one except for Blunt knew about.

"He has emotional links to Alex, there's a history there. We think that Gregorovich has paternal instincts towards Alex, he seems to have contacted Alex before now without our knowledge."

Julian suddenly realized something.

"The car!" He growled, "We had what looked like a car bomb earlier on today, but there were no casualties. The remains were identified as a Maserati GranTurisimo and that's what Gregorovich is driving there…"

Mrs. Jones looked up sharply.

"I heard about a car bomb. Are you sure it's the same car?"

Julian gave her a sarcastic look.

"How many GranTurisimo's do you think there are in London? Besides, it's the perfect way for Gregorovich to dispose of any DNA or traceable evidence."

Mrs. Jones nodded thoughtfully, taking it all in.

"Too bad he left us a huge trail anyway."

Julian looked up from where he was scrutinizing the screen.

"Pardon?"

Mrs. Jones smiled viciously.

"He disposed of the car, which he wouldn't have done unless he had somewhere close by to go to earth. That means that we can find him, he won't be far, not with Alex injured and no covert method of transportation."

Julian shared Mrs. Jones' smile.

"Of course," he crowed, "Excellent. Now we need to run a scan of possible hiding places."

Mrs. Jones pulled up another screen on the computer.

"I've done that already. There were three likely locations. We sent a team out to do a reconnaissance of all these spots, only one matched perfectly to what we know about Gregorovich. Not to mention one clearly inhabited apartment with no registration and a blacked out window." 

Julian looked smug.

"So we go in then?"

Mrs. Jones' smile faded.

"It's not that simple; if we organize a team for this, Blunt finds out. If Blunt finds out then he'll try to kill Alex to keep the whole thing out of the media."

Julian considered it. After seeing what had really happened, he could no longer treat Alex with the same indifference as before. 

"So no team and no media outflow?" He asked frustrated, "I honestly don't think that's a good idea."

Mrs. Jones matched Julian's glare.

"Really?" She asked icily, "You'd rather let the media eat Alex alive, if Blunt doesn't get him first? Or do you want money? I heard you had a media contact who'd pay you for any national news…" 

Julian felt shame flood him, but not for the reasons Mrs. Jones expected.

"You don't understand, I'm almost flat broke Tulip. There was a bad case a couple of months ago, the legal fees in clearing my name drained me dry…"

Mrs. Jones looked torn between sadness and disgust.

"So you'd sell out Alex for the cash, no matter the fact that he'd die and the government would be torn apart for it…"

Julian felt dirty, but he nodded anyway. Mrs. Jones sighed and took her USB out of the computer.

"I hate to give in, but here's what we'll do. I despise Gregorovich, but it's safest to let him safeguard Alex for now. We'll go in and inform both of them what's going on, without bringing Gregorovich down. Then, once we've dealt with that and we know for sure Alex is safe, you can go public with the details. Just make sure you make it look like you found all this out through your investigation, I'll be arrested for breaking the Official Secrets Act if you reveal me as your source."

Julian nodded vaguely, mind elsewhere. No matter what Tulip said, he intended to get even with Yassen Gregorovich. He might not be able to deal out revenge right now, but he'd make sure he could track the Russian down when the time came.

'_Yippee ki yay Motherfucker,' _he thought, quoting his favorite movie_, 'I've got you now.'_

* * *

**Dun dun dun! Okay, here's my questions:**

**1) Do you like Julian Schaffer as a character/person? Do you think he's a good or bad guy? **

**2) How do you think Alex is going to react to seeing two of his least fav people?**

**3)Any requests as to Julian's ultimate fate? I havent got much planned for him, so I'm open to suggestions!**

**4)Should I introduce anymore major characters or should I just have some minor side characters that pop up for depth? If you want more major characters, give me the details of what you'd like them to be like and how they'd be introduced**

**Anyway, TTFN and thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter Seven, MAD

**Chapter Seven, Mutually Assured Destruction**

**I like this chappie :)**

**Disclaimer: If I'm Anthony Horowitx then I'm going through some serious gender confusion xD**

* * *

Yassen had vanished. Alex wasn't sure when exactly this had been, but he guessed it'd been when he'd taken the shower he'd been encouraged to have. When he emerged from the bathroom, freshly scrubbed and somewhat more energetic, he'd found Donati sitting on the couch watching a war documentary.

Hovering nervously by the door, Alex had looked around the apartment for Yassen, trying to avoid eye contact with Donati. No luck though, Donati looked up smoothly and smiled nastily.

"He's gone out. Just you and me. Doesn't that sound fun?" He asked menacingly, flicking the TV off. Alex was thinking that that most definitely did _not_ sound fun as he edged away.

"When will Yassen be back?" Alex asked warily, eyeing Donati like a gazelle eyed a hungry lion that was watching.

Donati stood now, eyes narrowed.

"Don't know, don't care. Why? Need to hide behind Gregorovich to feel safe?" He mocked, walking into the kitchen and producing a bottle of vodka. He swilled from it leisurely and walked back towards Alex.

Alex edged away faster, subtly shifting his body weight to what would be required in a combat situation. Donati noticed.

"What's the matter Rider?" He leered, drinking from the vodka bottle menacingly, "Are you frightened? Am I too scary for a big man like you? Or do you think you could take me?"

Alex didn't reply, he just tensed himself, realizing that Donati was the very definition of 'angry drunk' and he should be prepared. Seemed like the story of his life: hope for the best, expect the worst.

Donati grinned widely and walked up to him slowly, dropping the bottle.

"Come on kiddo," he taunted, "Your babysitter's not here, so let's see how you go against me."

Alex shook his head.

"No."

Donati laughed soundlessly and started to turn away. Just as Alex thought he'd be okay, Donati whirled around like a cobra and slammed his fist into Alex's face.

Stunned, Alex nearly fell back. He just managed to stagger back, away from Donati. He was sure one of his back teeth was loose.

More from fear then anger, Alex struck back with a Kin Geri, or groin kick. His kick was on target and he had the immense satisfaction of seeing Donati curse vehemently and back off a few steps. Then, as he lowered his guard, it started again.

Following the Palm Heel Strike he hit the larger man with, Alex managed to ward off another punch from Donati with a Gedan Barai, or Lower Block, but he missed the knee strike from Donati that smashed him in the stomach. Winded, Alex did fall this time.

Donati pounced on him immediately, his left foot impacting with Alex's already damaged ribs several times. Agonised and almost unconscious, Alex lunged out for Donati's foot with both hands. He managed to get a good grip and then staggered to his feet, knocking Donati to the ground.

Alex backed off hastily, having learnt the hard way what staying close to the vicious man meant.

Just then Yassen came through the front door.

The Russian registered the scene in front of him, eyes fixing on Donati coldly, but didn't address it. Instead, he said something very different.

"MI6 are here."

Alex and Donati froze, staring at the Russian in shock.

"What?!" Donati snarled, getting to his feet, "How? You must have led them here!"

Yassen rounded on the trainee.

"I did not do any such thing!" He snapped, "They were here already, they knew this was where we were! I had to go around the back to avoid being seen. We need to leave now though, they're right behind me!"

It was then that doorbell rang.

* * *

They'd driven to the Albert Embankment building in silence, both absorbed totally by what they were about to attempt. Namely, contacting an assassin (no wait, make that an assassin, his feral trainee and a teenager who had a habit of lashing out at those who cornered him), face to face without anything like handcuffs or arrests. Sounded fun, not.

As Julian pulled his cheap, silver sedan up in front of the road, Mrs. Jones spoke.

"Look behind us."

Julian glanced in the rear-view mirror and immediately cursed.

About a hundred metres behind them, Yassen Gregorovich was turning away from a man who was most likely homeless, seemingly having received a backpack. The Russian started towards the building, looking at something in the bag but then froze.

Julian felt a chill go down his spine. Gregorovich was still looking away when he froze, but he quickly looked up directly at the car. The man had some sort of animal instinct, it was eerie the way he always knew he was being watched or followed. Julian had lost a close friend to that animal instinct once.

"He knows." Was all he said though. Mrs. Jones nodded.

"Make him think you haven't seen him."

So Julian looked away, but saw Yassen dart into a side entrance to the building from the corner of his eye.

"I'll have to remember to check CCTV footage of Gregorovich and that guy," he said quietly, "I want to know what they were doing and what was in the bag Yassen got."

Mrs. Jones shrugged.

"Later," she agreed, "let's go now though."

So, Julian got out of the car. Feeling amused, he even opened Mrs. Jones' door for her. She shot him a dirty look.

"You're such a gentleman," she said sarcastically, "I don't suppose you'll lie on the ground for me to walk over as well?"

Julian was the one to shoot a dirty look now.

"I get it," he muttered, "focus."

Mrs. Jones smiled coldly.

"Exactly. Try to remember that Yassen Gregorovich has proven himself to be a vicious killer many times over and highly capable even when the odds are against him. I've told you about Malta I presume?"

Julian frowned as he walked into the building and up a flight of stairs.

"No. What happened?"

Mrs. Jones shrugged grimly.

"The man took down close to an entire team on his own. When he ran out of bullets, he left one our agents with a knife in his gut for good measure. All in less then five minutes."

Julian was silent. The task at hand suddenly seemed like a very bad idea. Honestly, Yassen _knew_ they were here; they'd be mown down before they even exchanged polite greetings.

Mrs. Jones stopped in front of a door labelled '13'.

"Unlucky 13," she mused, "how fitting."

Julian held up a hand to quiet her.

"Listen." He murmured, "I hear voices."

Through the thin front door, they heard yelling.

"MI6 are here!"

'_That would be Yassen',_ Julian thought to himself, _'He's got an accent.'_

Then,

"What?! How?! You must have led them here!"

'_The trainee,' _Julian realized,_ 'Italian or Greek. Maybe Portuguese? He can't be a professional, not talking to Gregorovich that way.'_

Then, Yassen again.

"I did not do any such thing! They were here already; they knew this was where we were! I had to go around the back to avoid being seen. We need to leave now though, they're right behind me!"

Grinning now, Julian turned to Mrs. Jones.

"Shall we?" He asked sweetly as he pressed the doorbell.

* * *

Everyone stared at the door. Alex was startled, Donati confused, Yassen…Well, Yassen just looked incredulous. That expression intensified at the next sound they heard.

"Hello? Pizza delivery for one Yassen Gregorovich, ruthless assassin and-"

Furious now, Yassen nearly ripped the front door off its hinges in his haste to get it open. Alex guessed that the Russian's logic was that if MI6 weren't bothering with proper procedure, it was alright. A truly bizarre sight was revealed on the other side.

Detective Schaffer and Mrs. Jones. Schaffer with an absurd grin on his face and Mrs. Jones with a cold glare directed at Yassen.

There was a long moment of silence as everyone tried to both stare at each other and avoid being caught staring at the same time. Only Mrs. Jones and Yassen kept eye contact, glaring at each other with a viciousness that bewildered Alex. It was Detective Schaffer who broke the silence.

"Ah, I thought I had the wrong apartment for a moment there." He said cheerfully, causing Alex to wonder if he had gone insane.

Yassen looked away from Mrs. Jones and fixed Schaffer with a disgusted look.

"Julian," The Russian growled, making Schaffer wince for some reason, "Great."

Schaffer frowned as Yassen remembered his training and used his gun to direct Mrs. Jones and him into the apartment. The door was slammed shut.

* * *

Alex slowly registered everything that was happening and looked over at Mrs. Jones.

"You're lucky Yassen didn't shoot you." He said blankly.

Mrs. Jones regarded Alex evenly.

"Hello Alex. Surprised?"

Alex smiled humourlessly.

"No, but I am a little disappointed. Where's the SAS team and explosions? Did you run out of ideas?"

Julian looked between Alex and Yassen.

"Actually, we're not here to apprehend you." He said.

Yassen shook his head angrily.

"I know that. You'd both be dead already if I'd thought you were going to try and bring me in."

That statement seemed to take the edge off of both Julian and Mrs. Jones' confidence.

"So why are you here then?" Alex asked in confusion.

Mrs. Jones reached into the pocket of her coat. Yassen didn't say anything, but Alex saw the suspicion and tenseness in the Russian's eyes.

All that Mrs. Jones pulled out though was her phone.

"We came to deliver a warning;" she said coolly, "Blunt has issued a kill-order for all three of you."

Julian looked over at Mrs. Jones, obviously startled.

"What?" he demanded, "Why didn't you tell me that?"

Mrs. Jones shrugged.

"I got them message in the car. I don't know how, but Blunt knows someone has found out about everything. He's going for damage control."

Yassen didn't reveal anything in his expression or face.

"Warning appreciated. Now leave. Alex, _Allez attendent dans ma pièce tandis que je parle un peu à nos visiteurs_."

Alex was startled by the switch to French, but he managed not to show it. He knew that there had to be some sort of reasoning behind it, and he guessed that Yassen was relying on him to go along with the swap in languages.

So, he just shrugged and did as he was told.

Then, Yassen turned to Donati who had been silent thus far. He didn't bother with pleasantries this time.

"Piss off."

Livid, Donati also did as he was told. Yassen was starting to feel a little like was babysitting. He'd always hated kids too.

Mrs. Jones and Julian looked at the Russian, both knowing he had reserved the best for them.

"I don't care that you found me," Yassen snarled, "But understand that it doesn't happen again. I'm disappearing soon, and this time, you don't look for me. I'm taking Alex for his own protection and I know that's what you want, but if I suspect MI6 are watching me, I won't be so gentle with Alex."

Julian scowled.

"You'll kill him?"

Yassen smiled coldly.

"No. I'll do worse; I'll turn him into me. Scorpia's under new management, there's no vendetta against Alex anymore so he'd be welcome there."

Julian and Mrs. Jones both looked horrified. Yassen focused on Mrs. Jones.

"I'm surprised that you're getting involved with me Tulip," The Russian taunted, "Have you forgotten what happens when you get on my bad side?"

An odd thing happened then. Mrs. Jones suddenly looked devastated.

"No," she said, obviously pained, "I haven't. I don't suppose that you've rethought you're decision?"

Yassen's smile grew.

"Afraid not. Rita and George's bones stay where they are, the police might find them one day though, so don't be too upset."

Mrs. Jones looked close to tears.

"Bastard."

Yassen looked bored suddenly.

"Exactly. Since you've both annoyed me, I'm going to irritate you. Both of you remove your guns and place them on the dining table, next to the laptop."

Mrs. Jones removed a Glock handgun from her waistband and placed it where she'd been instructed. Julian hesitated, one hand in his pocket. Yassen pointed his gun at him.

"Unless you want to see your love interest here die, I suggest you do as I say Detective."

Julian frowned.

"Love interest?"

Yassen smirked.

"I'm not an idiot Julian, and neither is Tulip here. She knows you still love her."

Julian looked defeated now. He quickly pulled his gun out and put it next to Mrs. Jones'.

"Both of you can leave now."

* * *

Julian thought he might die from embarrassment as he climbed back into his car. Tulip was ignoring him but he knew that she would be dwelling on what Yassen had said.

"Tulip?" He asked tentatively, "Do you want to talk?"

She looked at him and he was startled to see tears on her face.

"I…" He really didn't know what to say.

"He killed them Julian, and I still can't forget it was my fault." Mrs. Jones whispered, producing a handkerchief. She dabbed her face dry, sniffling slightly.

Julian tried not to give a Neanderthal type 'huh?' He had no clue what she was talking about. Then, he recalled something Yassen had said. Bones being left where they were. Rita. George.

"Who were Rita and George?" He asked, putting two and two together, "Why did Yassen mention them?"

Mrs. Jones clenched her fists.

"They were my children," she whispered, "And he killed them."

* * *

Alex did the obvious thing as soon as he entered Yassen's room: he rushed to the door and pressed his ear to it.

To his surprise, it worked; he could hear everything that was said. He grinned when Yassen told Donati to piss off. But then, things took a nasty turn.

Yassen would turn him into a killer? He'd take him to Scorpia?!

Alex felt something die inside him. He trusted Yassen, but it looked like Yassen was not deserving of that. The Russian would turn him into a monster. How could he look Alex in the eye?

Then, anger and betrayal turned to confusion. Yassen seemed to hurt Mrs. Jones without lifting a finger. Names were mentioned, Rita and George. He gathered that Yassen had killed these two people, but he didn't understand who they were. MI6 agents perhaps? Friends of Mrs. Jones?

It didn't matter. Mrs. Jones and Julian left and Yassen didn't come to get Alex.

Alex moved away from the door, thinking hard. Yassen hadn't said anything to him, but he got the feeling now that Yassen had meant to bring him to Scorpia regardless of how MI6 behaved. Why else would Yassen have taken him in?

Now the question was, did it honestly bother him that much?

Alex sat on the dusty floorboards and thought about it. He didn't like the idea of being used and blackmailed, which he was sure he would be if he was taken to Scorpia. However, the actual core of the matter, the fact that he'd be turned into a killer, wasn't upsetting him as much as he'd thought.

That was a shock in itself. Did it mean he was a monster? Alex groaned and put his head in his hands. Why did his life have to circle around the answers to questions like these?

Alright, was he automatically a monster if he was a member of Scorpia? Alex reasoned that it was the person not the training that made you what you were. So maybe he'd be a lot more dangerous then before, but he'd essentially be the same person.

As for the killing thing…

Alex looked up now. The truth about killing was that he'd done it before and he didn't think he was a monster now. The secret truth was that some of the killing he'd done was half-deliberate. He didn't think it would be that much of a change to make the other half deliberate as well.

* * *

Yassen was angry. Absolutely livid if truth be told. It happened a lot these days; his temper was something beyond his control a lot.

He slammed the door shut and sat down in a nearby chair. He hated both Schaffer and Jones with a ferocity that surprised most. Dealing with both of them at once…That was always guaranteed to be a bad day for him.

Eventually, Yassen regained control and with a sigh, got to his feet. He supposed he'd have to go get Alex.

An odd thing though. Alex stood on the other side of the bedroom door, stony faced and arms crossed.

"Sorry I essentially sent you away like a child," Yassen muttered, "I'll explain in a minute."

Alex didn't reply, he just stood, staring at Yassen.

"What?" The Russian demanded, temper sparking again. "Why are you staring at me?"

"I heard."

Yassen felt like doing something stupid like throttling Alex. Why couldn't he mind his own business? Time for some untruths.

"I was lying to them Alex," Yassen said wearily, "I wanted them to stay away-"

"I want to go to Scorpia."

Yassen felt like the floor had dropped out beneath him, so great was his surprise.

"Are you sure?" He didn't bother with beating around the bush.

Alex looked pale but resolute.

"Yes. I've tried to fool myself for too long that I was forced into risking my life and killing, but the truth is, I chose it. I always did. Now, I don't want to choose MI6."

Yassen regarded Alex levelly.

"It won't be easy," the Russian warned him, "Scorpia has a long memory. They won't try to kill you, but they'll force you to prove your loyalty time and time again. If you fail, then I can't help you."

Alex nodded slowly after a moment.

"I understand that," he said firmly, "I still want to go though."

Yassen still wasn't convinced that Alex did actually understand what he was asking for.

"I don't think so." Yassen said, "Not yet anyway."

Alex looked furious.

"You can't do that!" He shouted, "I want this!"

Yassen glared at Alex icily.

"If you really want to be a part of Scorpia, you're going to have to learn something: you're nothing. You are presently a non-person as far as Scorpia is concerned and as such, you shut up and do as I say. Understand?"

Alex opened his mouth to reply, but hastily remembered the 'shut up' part. So, he closed his mouth and just nodded. Alex knew that if he was going to prove his seriousness about joining Scorpia, he had to start now.

Yassen raised a brow at Alex's obvious effort.

"I think I like it better when you're silent." The Russian said wryly, "You'll stay that way until I figure out exactly what I'm going to do with you."

Alex found himself putting childishly. He had no idea how he was going to communicate. The necessity to do so quickly increased as Donati appeared outside the bedroom door, wearing an angry scowl.

"Did I hear that right?" He demanded, "That you're taking the brat to Scorpia?"

Yassen looked at Donati distastefully.

"I don't remember you being a part of the conversation."

Donati looked apoplectic.

"You can not be serious!" He almost shouted, "It's not allowed for you to teach more then one person at once for one thing-"

"Then I choose Alex." Yassen said calmly.

Donati froze. Alex glanced between the Mediterranean man and Yassen. Then, everything went south.

Alex hit the ground hard as Yassen basically crash tackled him. At the same time, a bullet flew through the space that his head had previously been occupying. Donati was levelling his gun for another shot, but Yassen reacted first, firing three times in less then three seconds.

Donati staggered to the right, blood streaming from an arm and shoulder wound. The third round embedded itself in the wall by Donati's head.

Donati bolted; Alex heard the front door slam behind him. Yassen quickly got to his feet and helped Alex do the same.

"He's got a car in the basement," the Russian said, "We need to follow him. Are you alright to run?"

Alex didn't think he really was, but he nodded anyway. He wasn't going to give in now.

"By the way, never mind about shutting up," Yassen tossed over his shoulder, leading the way after Donati, "That rule's out the window."

Struggling to keep pace with Yassen, Alex nodded again.

"Alright," he winced, "I have a question then. I thought you blew the car up."

Yassen shot him a look.

"That's not a question. However, I will answer because I know what you mean. I can acquire a car in other ways."

Alex frowned.

"You mean steal."

"Essentially? Yes."

* * *

By the time they reached the basement garage, Alex felt like collapsing. He caught sight of Donati sprinting away to the right.

"Look!" he yelled as Yassen hissed, "quiet!"

Donati whirled around, and fired at them. Alex did collapse then, crawling behind a concrete pillar for protection.

Yassen crouched behind the nearest car, peering around the bonnet to return fire. The Russian cursed as one of Donati's rounds shattered one of the car's headlights, less then five inches from his hand.

Alex stayed behind his pillar, occasionally peeking around the edge to watch what was going on.

After a few moments, Donati suddenly dropped his gun and took off. Alex hurried after Yassen who followed.

"What's going on?" Alex yelled over the sound of screeching tires.

"He's out of ammunition…Look out!"

Donati, vindictive as ever, attempted to run Alex over in his car (an Audi A5). Alex threw himself out of the way just in time.

"Asshole," Alex muttered to himself as he painfully climbed back to his feet. Then, "How do you know he's out of ammo?"

Yassen hurried over to a nearby car.

"He was using a CZ 100, which means a maximum of 13 rounds. He shot 13 times meaning he was out of ammo. Damn it, I can't pick the lock on this."

Alex was going to ask what they were going to do, but Yassen replied by shooting the car's lock. The door opened.

"No alarm," the Russian muttered, "Stupid on an expensive Jaguar like this."

Alex climbed into the front passenger seat.

"It is nice."

The rest of his words were shoved back down his throat as Yassen slammed down hard on the accelerator. The inside of the car was immersed in an electric blue.

"There he is." Alex managed, pointing to an intersection about a hundred metres ahead.

"I see him," Yassen said calmly, "Hold on."

Alex knew enough now of Yassen's driving to do as he was told. He held on for dear sweet life as the Russian took the corner hard. The gap between their car and Donati closed quickly.

They were going well and truly past the speed limits now; Alex lost track of where they were. The next thing he knew, he was nearly flung through the windscreen as the car came a screeching halt. Donati had bailed out from his car ahead and was on foot now.

Yassen looked at Alex.

"You won't listen if I say stay here, will you?"

Alex shrugged.

"I'll listen, but I won't obey."

Yassen sighed and got out.

"Come on then, but for god's sake be careful. And quiet, no more yelling and giving away our positions!"

Alex did his best to keep up with Yassen, but it was hard work. He noticed that they were in an industrial area; the surrounding buildings looked mostly like factories and warehouses.

From up ahead, there was a thump. Yassen slowed down.

"He's gone into one of the buildings on the right," the Russian said quietly, "It's a meat processing plant."

Alex's reply was,

"Oh shit, look behind you!"

A Rottweiler came out of the shadows, snarling and baying like a hellhound. Alex guessed it was guarding the back entrance.

Yassen wheeled around, aiming for the dog's skull, but the Rottweiler lunged first, sinking its long, yellow teeth in Yassen's arm. Cursing angrily, Yassen kicked the dog away. It lunged again, but Yassen backed away before it could get another bite in. It was obvious that the dog was too fast to deal with right now, so Yassen kicked it once more and hastily darted through the door Donati had fled through, dragging Alex with him.

"I suggest we move quickly," Yassen said grimly, shaking his arm. Blood drops flew everywhere and Alex looked behind him.

The Rottweiler had recovered the latest kicking Yassen had given it and had come through the door with them. Sprinting along the narrow hallway, the dog closed the distance between them quickly.

Not bothering to ask first, Alex promptly ripped Yassen's gun away and turned on his heel, firing twice. Both bullets hit the dog, one in a hind leg the other just gouging out a piece of flesh from its right shoulder. The dog gave a high pitched shriek and collapsed on the floor.

Satisfied, Alex gave the gun back to Yassen. The Russian shook his head disbelievingly.

"Lucky shot."

* * *

Donati had never been angrier in his life and he was a man of a short temper. He'd been mistreated by fucking Gregorovich from the beginning and now he was fleeing for his life with two bullets in him! He also knew that only his anger had kept him conscious, the blood loss was already slowing him down, he couldn't keep running.

He looked around him and saw a likely hiding spot, on a catwalk. If he crouched behind a pile of nearby crates, he was out of sight and well-sheltered. He then wondered where all the workers were. Looking down, he saw two men in white coveralls looking back up at him, completely nonplussed. That changed very quickly once they caught sight of Yassen-

_-Damn him…_

-they scattered very quickly, registering the gun.

Annoyed and truth be told, worried by his lack of firearms, Donati crouched lower behind the crate, praying that Yassen didn't see him.

It seemed that either God or Satan was taking an interest in him all of a sudden, because Yassen didn't catch sight of him. The Russian quickly scanned the room, gun head height (his head height even more alarmingly), that little brat in tow.

Donati wished more then ever he had a gun right then; he'd have blown that kid's brains all over the room before Yassen fucking Gregorovich even had time to react.

However, as helpful as God/Satan (weren't they essentially the same thing? He wondered. He'd never been a big fan of religion. He had that in common at least with Yassen) were suddenly being, they'd forgotten to make a gun suddenly materialize in his hands, so he stayed hidden, watching closely.

* * *

Apparently satisfied Donati was not going to pop up unexpectedly, Yassen slowly lowered his gun. He looked over at Alex, who was an unexpected shade of green.

"Why did you say you were okay to come if you weren't?" The Russian asked in mild consternation, "You're about to pass out."

Alex shook his head.

"No, I'm okay." He said, straightening up, "It's just my ribs. The bandaging is still okay though, so I'm fine."

Yassen didn't look happy, but he nodded anyway. Alex was determined to keep up and truth be told, it was good Scorpia experience.

"There's another level," He said, pointing to the catwalk, "I'll look up there. Stay behind me."

* * *

Behind his crate, Donati grinned. If he took Yassen by surprise, chances were he could kill him. Once Gregorovich was disposed of, he was sure that Alex would prove no challenge.

* * *

As Alex followed Yassen up the catwalk stairs, he noticed a rough, humming sound. It was loud enough to be noticeable and deep enough for him to feel in his chest.

"What is that?"

Yassen pointed to a massive machine on the ground level, twenty feet below their feet.

"It's for processing the meat," he said quietly, "Like a paper shredder. The workers ran out without turning it off."

Alex looked at the machine with a new distaste, silently disgusted by the sudden thought of hundreds upon thousands of kilograms of dead cow finding their way into that monstrosity. He wondered if it was enough to make him go vegetarian. Probably not, he liked his steak.

"Alex," Yassen said quietly, walking past a stack of crates, "The door in front is a fire door, Donati hasn't-"

Whatever the Russian had been about to say as Donati himself suddenly appeared, shoulder ramming into Yassen. Taken by surprise, Alex saw Yassen's gun fly out his grip, landing ten feet away.

Whilst Yassen was taller and faster, Donati had a huge advantage in his greater weight and muscle. He also had the element of surprise. So, Yassen soon found himself in a very bad situation where he was pinned up against a railing getting the metaphoric shit kicked out of him.

Angry at being fooled, Yassen managed to get an arm free. He promptly punched Donati in the face, hard. The other man reared back, hands flying up to his face. Taking the opportunity, Yassen quickly lashed out again, smashing the heels of his hands into Donati's face again.

Enraged, Donati spat blood and drove his elbow into Yassen's chest. He knew Yassen was vulnerable there, still bearing a lasting injury from the bullet he'd taken.

Immediately, Yassen went white and staggered back, bent over with his arms held protectively over his chest. It looked like he was going to collapse, but Donati grabbed him first, pushing him back against the railing. He was going to shove Yassen over the edge, into the meat shredder.

Leaping into action, Alex looked around him for a weapon. He saw Yassen's gun, but it was on the other side of the catwalk, he wouldn't be fast enough to get it in time. His eyes fell on a crowbar left laying on the catwalk, seemingly used to open some of the crates up here. Picking it up, Alex ran over to where Donati was trying to punch Yassen unconscious in order to make it easier to push him off the edge of the catwalk.

Without hesitation, Alex swung the crowbar. It slammed into Donati's side; there was an audible crack as several of the man's ribs broke.

Giving a hoarse bellow, Donati lurched sideways and rounded on Alex. Not waiting for the large man to get his hands on him, Alex swung again, this time not aiming to injure.

There was a sickening splattering sound as the crowbar smashed part of Donati's skull in. The man dropped staggered back dramatically and then, to Alex's mixed horror and hysterical amusement, dropped over the railing and into the meat shredder.

Close to throwing up, Alex managed not to hear the sounds the machine made. Panting from exhaustion and adrenalin, he stumbled over to Yassen.

The Russian looked bad. He was still very pale and he had a split lip along with a few already rising bruises on his face. He was leaning weakly against the railing, using one arm to prop himself up whilst the other still covered his chest.

"Thanks…" Yassen managed, breathing out shakily.

Alex shrugged gingerly.

"No problem. Are you alright?"

Yassen coughed hoarsely and grimaced. There were spots of blood on his lips.

"Not really."

Alex felt a stab of worry for the Russian.

"What can I do?"

Yassen shook his head and limped over to pick his gun up.

"Not a lot. Just don't worry; I'm too proud to have anyone hovering over me like a mother hen."

Alex followed the Russian down to the ground level again. Then, things suddenly got very bad again.

Alex's favourite dog was back, seemingly having temporarily recovered its bullet wounds. It stood before them, hackles raised and growling. Blood spread messily in a pool around it and it stumbled forwards a few steps. Alex felt his heart catch in his throat, it was going to lunge.

Then, there was a surprisingly loud and clear whistle. Startled, Alex realized that Yassen had whistled for the dog!

The Russian was standing by the output tray for the meat shredder by a pile of…Alex grimaced, deciding he wasn't interested in identifying what he was looking at. The point was Yassen was calling the dog over there.

At the sound of the whistle, the dog's ears pricked and it suddenly relaxed and trotted over. Yassen grinned at the now docile Rottweiler and pat the edge of the tray, encouraging the dog up.

'_Oh my God!'_ Alex realized with a disgusted start what Yassen was planning to do.

"No, Don't!-"

It was too late; the dog had jumped up onto the tray and was happily slurping up…stuff…

Retching, Alex glared at Yassen as he approached again, smiling wickedly.

"You…" He had to run away to throw up. "Sick, twisted…" More vomiting. Joy.

Yassen just laughed and motioned for Alex to finish up. Doing so, Alex followed Yassen back to the car.

"It makes sense Alex," The Russian smiled, "The dog will clean up most of the mess and what's left over won't be distinguishable as human meat. The workers will just pack it all up for delivery to the local fast food restaurants. Donati may as well have never existed."

Shuddering, Alex just shook his head and climbed back into the car.

"I always knew there was something strange about the McDonalds burgers." He muttered as they drove away from the plant.

* * *

**Well?? I loved the ending line :D**

**1)ARe we interested in hearing about Mrs. Jones' kids?**

**2)What do you think was in the bag that Yassen got from that homeless guy? It's very cloesly related to his..condition..so guess!!**

**3)Has your opnion of any of the characters changed at all? Who's your favourite?**

**Anyway, feel free to ask questions of your own and add other comments in!! Reviews make me happy enough to sing, so...Keep 'em coming!**


	8. Chapter Eight, The Painful Truth

**Just a warning, this chappie is very long (27 Word pages), and contains drug references and a high level of angst on Yassen's part.**

**Disclaimer: ...Identity Crisis!**

* * *

**Chapter Eight, That's the Painful Truth**

Embarrassingly, Alex was sick twice more on the drive back to the apartment. The first time he moaned the clichéd 'I think I'm gonna be sick' and Yassen (who seemed to be in a remarkably good mood considering what shape he was in) obligingly pulled over.

The second time, Alex hadn't even had to open his mouth. Yassen had glanced over at him, saw his pasty face and braked quickly, reaching over to open Alex's door for him. Obviously the Russian had learnt that Alex was very prone to destroying vehicle upholstery. He was still a little sore about Alex bleeding all over his GranTurisimo. Pointing out that it didn't matter anyway because he'd blown the whole damn car up was an unwelcome intrusion on logic's part. Logic, Yassen reflected as he did his best ignore the less then appetising vision of vomiting Alex, is an annoying asshole sometimes.

Once he was finished, Alex stumbled back into the car feeling weak and limp. As he did his seatbelt back up, he looked over at Yassen.

"Thanks," he sighed, "I guess I have a weak stomach."

Yassen smirked and pulled away from the curb.

"I actually think you're just adjusting to the slightly traumatising sights you're exposed to as a Scorpia trainee. I'd say that you chose a hell of a way to start your traineeship off."

Alex tried not to scowl.

"I didn't push him into the shredder deliberately."

Yassen glanced at him, brows raised.

"You chose to smash his skull in deliberately."

Alex frowned.

"He was kicking the hell out of you. I was angry and-"

"Okay," Yassen laughed, "I understand. I wasn't blaming you for it. I'm glad you did, I did need the help and besides, I despised Donati."

Alex felt his stomach give an odd sort of twitch, but he didn't think he'd be sick again.

"So did I, but that wasn't why I killed him."

Yassen looked less amused now and more awkward.

"You were trying to save me. I know that's why you killed him. It's just easier the first time when you don't dwell on it."

Alex started to ask what Yassen meant by 'first time', but then he got it. First time killing someone. He'd killed someone. He was a killer.

_Killer Killer Killer_. The words bounced around his head, weak and meaningless. He'd been a killer before. It was just not accidental anymore.

"I'm alright," Alex muttered, "Just tired and sore. I'm not dwelling or whatever. I don't care; it's not that big a deal. It's not the first time I've killed someone, I've just never done it deliberately."

Yassen glanced over at him again, expression fathomless.

"But you did this time. You're not…" The Russian seemed to search for the right word to use. "…Upset?"

Alex smiled.

"You're really not very good with people, are you?" he laughed, "you're able to fight and kill people, but you're honestly afraid of them!"

Yassen seemed either speechless at that or deep in thought. For a long time, whilst they were stuck in a traffic jam, he didn't say a word. Then, he turned to face Alex.

"You're right," he said quietly, "I am."

Alex looked away, embarrassed now by what he'd said. It was a case of 'speak before you think' and he felt stupid for it now.

"Are we still going to Tunisia?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yes, as soon as a friend of mine gives me his word that he's managed to sort out a new passport and identity for you."

Alex frowned as something suddenly occurred to him.

"Why Tunisia?" He asked, "Why not Venice?"

Yassen didn't answer straight away, distracted by a taxi that forced it's way in front of them suddenly, horn blaring. Muttering Russian obscenities, Yassen turned back to Alex.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I asked, why are we going to Tunisia?" Alex repeated himself, "Why not Venice?"

"I'm surprised you'd want to go back there," Yassen said interestedly, "Considering what sort of memories you have from there."

Alex shrugged.

"It doesn't matter what memories I have of the place if that's where we need to go."

Yassen was impressed by Alex's fortitude.

"Luckily," he said, "I won't have to hold you to that. Malagosto was too widely known, there's a new training facility in Tunisia, about fifty miles from Tataouine, near the Libyan border."

Alex was interested.

"What's it like?"

Yassen considered it.

"Like hell on Earth, only hotter and drier. The instructors are vindictive assholes who'd love to see you cry and most end up losing a lot of weight and finish covered in sunburn and scorpion bites. You'll enjoy yourself."

Alex winced.

"Oh."

Just then, Yassen's phone rang. The Russian picked up, glancing in the rear-view mirror at a police car a few cars behind. They'd just driven past a 'no talking on mobiles whilst driving' sign.

"да??"

Yassen listened briefly and then continued in Russian.

"Что относительно наших билетов?"

Another pause. Then,

"Первый класс? Хм, это лучше тогда, что я ожидал."

Then, Yassen listened intently for a moment before seemingly confirming some detail.

"Таким образом мы будем уезжать завтра тогда? Хорошо, хороший. Я уже говорил с Членами правления, они заплатят Вам, когда мы прибываем."

Yassen suddenly laughed and glanced at Alex.

"Юмористический как всегда Владимир. Да, я буду говорить ему. Да... Я буду говорить с Вами позже."

Waiting for Yassen to hang up first, Alex frowned at him.

"What was that about?"

Yassen smiled.

"My friend Vladimir is very funny. He said I should tell you that he wishes you good luck and that the instructors are already planning their tortures."

Alex jumped at that.

"Scorpia already know I'm coming?!"

"Yes, I wasn't going to just turn up in La Tomba Della Sabbia with you in tow and no advance warning."

Alex was very alarmed at the mention of the impending torture, but he was intrigued by the Italian that Yassen had spoken.

"La Tomba Della Sabbia?"

Yassen's smile grew and was tinged with sadism.

"The Sand Grave."

Alex frowned.

"How'd it get its name?"

"The students named it."

"Oh." Was all Alex could say for a moment. Then, "What…What else did Vladimir say?"

"We leave tomorrow." Yassen replied, "He got us first class tickets into Melita Airport."

Alex was startled.

"So soon?"

Yassen smiled again, this time because they were finally out of the traffic jam and close to the apartment.

"Yes, the tickets are for a three am flight," The Russian explained, pulling up outside the building, "And there's something else."

Alex got a sinking feeling.

"We are only stopping here to get some things and then we're leaving." Yassen said grimly, opening his door and walking into the building. Alex followed close behind.

"Why?"

Yassen looked both exasperated and amused by Alex's flow of questions.

"Because," he said with exaggerated patience, "MI6 knows about this place now. Plus I get the feeling that people will be slightly distressed about the bullets holes and blood we left in their walls and floorboards."

Alex had to admit that Yassen was right about that, walking into the apartment. There was a trail of dried blood which had turned brown and seeped into the cracks between the floorboards (Alex reflected that it wasn't such a great loss as the floorboards had been ugly anyway. Oddly enough, Yassen was thinking the same thing). There were the very obvious bullets holes as well.

"Hmm," Yassen mused out loud, "It's just as well that I didn't like this place, otherwise I might have been inclined to complain."

Alex shrugged and looked around the apartment.

"Is there anything you want me to get?"

Yassen nodded.

"The first aid kit under that armchair. I need to fix myself up."

Pulling the kit in question out, Alex wondered why it was so heavy. He wondered if whoever had packed this box had expected the user to be extremely creative or suicidal.

Swinging the kit around, Alex went to place it on the coffee table, accidentally knocking a backpack that he'd seen Yassen bring into the apartment off in the process. It fell to the floor with a thump and a startling splintering noise. The bag's zip was partly broken too, leaving the bag half open. A small white cloud, like when you hit a bag of flour, puffed out along with a few small pieces of glass.

Yassen froze and Alex glanced between the bag and the Russian, wondering why he was starting to freak out. Maybe it was the look on Yassen's face. Guilt. Stress. Even a little fear.

"I'll get that," Alex muttered, reaching out to pick it up, "Sorry, I-"

"No! Don't touch it!" Yassen hissed, standing suddenly. It was Alex's turn to freeze now, he backed away slowly, well and truly intimidated by the expression on Yassen's face.

Then, the Russian seemed to realize what he was doing. Yassen relaxed abruptly, looking strangely sad.

"Sorry." Alex said again, still not quite over his scare.

Yassen just shook his head.

"No, don't be Alex. I was stupid enough to…to make this decision, so I don't deserve an apology."

Alex felt like was on a different page to the Russian.

"What? I don't under-"

And then Yassen upended the bag completely and Alex understood everything. His heart sunk.

* * *

Julian arrived back at the station alone; Tulip had gotten out at a nearby Tube station, apparently called back to HQ. She had an excuse of 'directing local authorities in more appropriate directions' ready if she was questioned.

He was confused and miserable. He hadn't known about Tulip's children. He had been too preoccupied with his own predicament to even be bothered with her distress to be perfectly honest. And she'd been as disgusted with him as he'd expected when he'd voiced his solution to his problem.

He didn't understand why Tulip was so insistent on protecting Alex Rider. Yes, he was not the criminal he'd thought, and yes he was actually a pretty decent kid, but hell, he needed money! The easiest way for him to do that would be too leak Alex's story to the media. In all honesty, there were even several high up politicians who'd pay him to spread this. It would destroy the Prime Minister, he'd be forced to resign and those high up politicians would fall to squabbling and power-playing. Chances were that it wouldn't matter if technically the Deputy Prime Minister would take over because the man was renowned for being easily manipulated.

Britain's government would be going to the dogs for awhile, the public would suffer and it would be all Julian Schaffer's fault.

As he climbed out of his car and through the station's reception, he frowned. All his fault? That wasn't true; it was Alan Blunt's fault for using Alex in the first place. He was just taking advantage of a bad situation. It was only natural.

So why did he feel so guilty at the prospect of being responsible for the chaos that would surely follow if he talked to the media about Alex? Not to mention he wasn't even factoring in the 'kill ordered issued against a British citizen' story yet. And then, the public, sure to be already hysterical from those two bombshells, would go over the edge once he mentioned the fact that Yassen Gregorovich, professional assassin and political terrorist, had been in London too.

Julian grimaced, not sure he wanted to deal with the 'end of civilization as we know it' type scenario his brain was throwing up. No, he decided firmly, there's no point thinking about it. It isn't my problem what the politicians and media do. Just focus on the money and finally escaping the daily scraping for money to pay your bills and food expenses. Just focus on that. There, much better.

With a relieved sigh, Julian sat down at his desk. Fred leaned over from nearby.

"Hey Julian, where's the woman you were with?"

Julian cringed and turned to glare at Fred. He was not in the mood to deal with his friend's bumbling sort of chumminess right now. Fred's smile died as he saw the look on Julian's face.

"Sorry," Fred said awkwardly, before returning to whatever he was doing on his computer.

Thank God, Julian thought to himself, managing to disregard the pang of guilt he felt for the way he'd just treated his well-meaning friend.

First things first, he decided, turning to his own computer, who was the man Gregorovich met and what was in the bag?

With his skill and police access, it took Julian moments to open up the required CCTV file. He double clicked the 'play today's footage' button and quickly pulled the little bar on the timer to the right scene. He enabled face recognition.

Straight away, the homeless man's face was recognised and the relevant file popped up.

Norris Singh

5'9''

83kg

Previous Arrests:

4

Previous charges:

-possession of illegal substances

-possession of illegal substances with the intention of sale

-driving under the influence of narcotics

-public disorderliness

So, Julian mused, scanning through a few arrest reports, the guy that Gregorovich met is a drug dealer. Interesting. _Veerryy_ Interesting.

* * *

Plastic zip-lock bags of cocaine spilt everywhere. Shattered hypodermic syringes. A lethal, illegal mess.

Alex tried to look away, to pretend he hadn't seen anything, but it wasn't working. He saw everything for what it was and couldn't lie to himself. He didn't want to look anymore.

"I…" Alex swallowed dryly and stood up, "I'll go grab more stuff and-"

"Alex."

Alex winced and turned back to face Yassen. He didn't meet the Russian's eye.

"Alex, look at me." It wasn't a request.

Alex looked up awkwardly. Yassen looked back, sad but firm.

"Alex, I know you don't want to stand here and talk to me right now," Yassen said, "But-"

"You're right!" Alex cut in, "I don't. But I don't have a choice, you'll make me stay and listen to your pathetic excuses, so I may as well just shut up and wait for this to be over."

Yassen clenched his fists instinctively and looked at Alex like he was only just holding himself in check.

"That's right, except for one thing."

Alex glared at the Russian.

"Oh yeah, what?"

Yassen took a breath and visibly calmed.

"I'm not going to make excuses. Excuses won't change anything; I'm smart enough to know that."

"But not smart enough to not touch cocaine or whatever that stuff is in the first place." Alex interjected, "Which I just don't _understand_! I mean, you grew up on the streets of _Moscow_ for God's sake, surely you saw cocaine and other shit _kill_ people! How could you ever…ever do the same?! I don't get it!"

Yassen looked sad, there was something haunted in his blue eyes.

"I don't either," he said, half to himself, "It seemed meaningless at the time, but then, everything was meaningless back then. Even my own morals."

Yassen noticed that Alex was regarding him sceptically.

"Yes, I do have morals," he smiled half-heartedly, "Not many, but what few I do have were…_are_ important to me. One of them was that I'd promised myself that I'd never go the same way as almost all the other lost orphans my age on the streets did. I'd never let myself become a drug user."

Alex frowned, interested despite himself.

"But you did."

Yassen's smile vanished abruptly.

"Yes. It was because I gave up on everything including myself. I was, well, fucked up plainly put after Air Force One and I just didn't care what I did."

Alex felt a shiver run down his spine. He thought he knew something about that.

"Didn't you ever wonder why you were still using cocaine once you got better?"

Yassen looked at Alex grimly and suddenly, Alex did get it.

"You didn't get better…" Alex trailed off, a reluctant pity trickling through him like cold water, "You're still sick."

Yassen laughed.

"Sick?" He repeated, "That's the nicest way I've ever had someone tell me I'm a mess."

Alex didn't see what was so funny, but then, he didn't know what went on in the Russian's mind, so he didn't ask.

"That's what it is though," Alex insisted, "Depression is a sickness."

Yassen stopped laughing, but the ghost of a smile still played around his lips.

"I suppose."

"It is." Alex grunted, "I would know."

"I forgot," Yassen muttered, "You would know. MI6 sent you to a therapist briefly, didn't they?"

Alex stared at the Russian.

"How would you know that?"

Yassen's smile was back.

"I kept an eye on you every now and then."

"So, when you stopped Donati killing me wasn't the first time you'd seen me since Air Force One?"

"No," Yassen agreed, "I'd checked on you a couple of times before that, between jobs and overseas trips. Scorpia didn't know at first, but after they came under new management, it wasn't so bad."

"Under new management?" Alex asked, "You said that before…What do you mean by that?"

"After your run in with the Snakehead, a lot of Scorpia's agents were fed up with the Board making mistake after mistake, especially concerning you and MI6. There was a revolution of sorts and a new set of members took over the Board."

Alex frowned.

"What happened to the old Board Executives?"

Yassen smiled.

"They were all killed. I shot one of them when they tried to run."

Alex shuddered; he could only imagine the bloody mess a Scorpia revolution would be.

Yassen shrugged.

"I was offered a place on the Board, but I refused."

Alex gave a derisive snort.

"How very noble of you," he grunted, "But you're changing the subject."

Yassen glanced at the mess on the ground and shrugged again.

"That's true, but it wasn't deliberate."

Alex crossed his arms.

"So you won't say anything else then?"

Yassen sighed and fixed Alex with a flat stare.

"How about this: I've made a lot of mistakes, this one of them but it was my mistake to make and as such, I won't bother with excuses or apologies that you probably wouldn't believe anyway. Does that satisfy you?"

Alex snorted again and turned away.

"I guess it's the best I'll get."

Yassen tried to ignore the sadness he felt as he realized that slender bit of trust Alex had in him had been broken. He glared at Alex's back.

"Damn right it is." He muttered to himself.

* * *

Alex and Yassen quickly gathered the few truly valuable things in the apartment that they'd need to go to Tunisia in silence. They both looked up when they heard the sound of sirens.

"I guess one of the residents did bother to call the police after all," Alex said, "What now?"

Yassen shrugged.

"This building has a fire escape. We'll go out that way."

Alex saw one problem with that.

"Where will we go?"

Yassen frowned at him.

"I don't think that we actually have time for me to play tour-guide. Just follow me and keep your voice down. I don't feel like having to shoot my way out of the building."

Alex was angry at being snubbed, but he'd figured out very quickly that the best way for him to succeed in his new position was to stay quiet and learn fast. So, he didn't say a word as he followed Yassen.

The Russian had left the door ajar slightly, so they were able to hear voices from down the stairs very well. It seemed that the landlord had chosen to appear now to speak with the police.

"Are you the one who called us?"

"Yes." The landlord sounded surly, "We all heard gunshots. I think some people went running down to the garage, but they're gone now."

The police officer considered that a second.

"Has anyone gone into the apartment in question?"

"No! I saw shows where you weren't meant to disturb evidence or nothing."

The police officer sounded worried now.

"So you don't know if there's anyone injured in there?"

The landlord was silent, obviously realizing their mistake. The police officer (officers, Alex realized as he heard multiple footsteps) didn't wait any longer.

"Time to go." Yassen muttered, slinking through the open door, "We need to go fast but quickly."

Alex nodded and followed the Russian quickly down the hallway and up the first few steps leading to the next floor. Alex subtly peered around the edge of the wall to see three officers jog up the stairs and walk slowly into the apartment. He could hear what they were saying very clearly. He thought Yassen was listening too.

"Hey Roger, I found bullet holes." The first policeman called.

The one named Roger gave an interested grunt.

"Good, but come see what I found."

There was a brief pause and then the sound of a man (the first officer) and a woman swearing.

"Hell, that's got to be something like a kilo of crack here!"

"Whoever bought it can't be happy; it's spilt everywhere…"

Alex glanced at Yassen, but the Russian was busy doing something with the stairwell window. He went back to listening to the police officers.

"I also found dried blood Roger," the woman said, "Do you guys think we're looking at a bad drug deal?"

There was no reply, and Alex jumped when he saw the man named Roger slowly walk out of the apartment, seemingly studying something on the ground.

"Roger?" His partners called.

Roger licked his lips and turned back to the other two who followed him out into the hallway.

"What is it?"

Roger pointed to the ground and Alex went cold when he realized that he'd left scuffs of cocaine on the floor from his shoes, which were coated in the white powder.

"At least one of them might still be here." Roger said quietly, "We should have a look."

Yassen looked up sharply then.

"We need to go now." He muttered, having managed to pull the window open. Alex saw a drop of about eight feet to the fire escape below. Both he and Yassen were in no state to go dropping from windows like confused birds, but Alex supposed desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Let me guess, me first?" Alex hissed, swinging his legs out of the window. Yassen just shot him a dirty look and glanced back into the hallway. The police officers had reached some sort of consensus and were slowly approaching the stairwell. Yassen obviously decided then that Alex was being too slow, because he suddenly pushed Alex hard.

Alex barely had time to swear before the sky and ground did some strange, acrobatic sort of flip and he landed on his back on the metal fire escape. Winded and stunned, the pain was immediate.

Yassen of course managed to land more or less on his feet, although Alex was gratified to see that the Russian seemed no less pained by the landing then him.

The Russian pulled Alex to his feet.

"You're fine," he said, "let's go."

Just then, there was a shout from somewhere above them. Alex and Yassen looked up to see two of the police officers leaning out the window, yelling at them.

Apparently Yassen was interested in conversation, because he quickly started pushing Alex forward, down the fire escape.

"Hurry up!" The Russian hissed, "The other one's coming down to try and cut us off on the ground."

Alex did his best to go faster, but he was in a lot of pain. Yassen pushed him harder.

"Come on!"

Alex glared over his shoulder at the Russian.

"Stop pushing me!"

"Well hurry up then!"

Alex wanted badly to share one of his highly explicit replies with the Russian, but he didn't as then finally reached the ground.

Yassen led the way to where they'd casually left the Jaguar parked against the curb. Just as they got in, the third police officer came bursting out from the front door.

"Oi!" He yelled, sprinting towards them "Stop!"

Yassen just slammed on the accelerator and the police officer was forced to stay back as they swung around and out onto the road. Alex was pretty sure the policeman gave them the finger too.

After a few minutes, Alex decided that he should point out a possible problem with their escape.

"London is full of CCTV you know."

Yassen looked at him, seemingly annoyed at him.

"I did know actually. Your point?"

Alex shrugged.

"Well, at least one of them is bound to get our numberplate. Not to mention that a nice car like this probably has a tracking device installed exactly for this reason."

Yassen scowled at him.

"You're smarter then you look."

Alex scowled back.

"I'm guessing that was no compliment. So what are you going to do about the CCTV and tracker?"

Yassen thought about it for a moment. He pulled over on the side of the road.

"We go on foot."

Alex mentally whimpered. He was sore and tired, he really didn't know if he was up to this. However, he wouldn't let Yassen know this, so he outwardly stayed calm.

"That's fine," He said, "But we will still have the same problem with the CCTV."

Yassen looked around the car.

"The nearest CCTV is about a hundred metres further up the road," he said, "and there's a store just there, across the road. We can buy hoods or hats; we should be able to hide our faces from the cameras. Just keep your head down."

Alex considered it. He didn't much like the idea, but he was smart enough to know it was the only choice that they really had.

"Okay," he agreed unwillingly, "But where are we going after that?"

Yassen smiled.

"We're going to see a friend of mine."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Alex followed Yassen back onto the street wearing a grey Oakley hooded sweatshirt. He had the hood up, which made him feel stupid, but he knew it was necessary.

Yassen wore a baseball cap. Alex felt the need to comment.

"You look stupid."

Yassen shot him a highly withering look.

"I know that. So do you."

There was nothing Alex could do to counter that, so he just shut his mouth and walked sullenly to the nearest Tube station. They purchased tickets from automatic machines and boarded the train.

Alex asked again, "Where are we going?"

Yassen didn't even reply this time, so Alex comforted himself with the though that once they got to Tunisia, he would find the biggest scorpion he could and leave it in the Russian's shoes or clothing.

After a trip of an indeterminate length, they got off the train. They emerged in an altogether more respectable looking part of London then before. Alex realized they weren't very far from his house. He suddenly remembered Jack and felt terrible.

Yassen glanced over and saw the look on Alex's face.

"We can't go see her Alex," the Russian said, sounding a little sympathetic, "You know we can't."

Alex nodded miserably.

"I just wonder when I'll see her again."

To his surprise, Yassen looked surprisingly sympathetic and thoughtful.

"Don't get your hopes up, but I might be able to sort something out for a later date," The Russian said slowly, "But it's unlikely. Okay?"

Alex quashed the brutal hopefulness that leapt up inside him.

"Okay," he said, "It probably won't happen. Don't get my hopes up."

Yassen nodded.

"Exactly, now come on, we're actually really close."

Alex sighed and kept walking. To his agony, they actually passed his house. The lights were on inside, creating a warm sort of glow against the evening sky. He wondered what Jack was doing.

* * *

Jack had gone through extreme fear and sadness before in the course of taking care of Alex, but nothing like this. She had no idea where Alex was, whether he was okay, what he was doing. She didn't even know if the police were still after him for murder. She didn't believe it anyway.

The excruciating thing was that MI6 said he wasn't with them, they actually had as little an idea as to his location as she did.

Fighting what felt like the hundredth lot of tears for that day, Jack decided to go unlock the front door, just in case Alex was coming home. Just in case. She didn't want for him to come in the middle of night whilst she was asleep and not be able to get in to his home. She knew it was a fool's hope, but it was better then no hope at all.

As she did so, she looked out the window into the street sadly. Chelsea in the evening greeted her, she silently absorbed the sights. A husband and wife walking out of their house. A car driving into a driveway. A man wearing a baseball cap with his teenage son.

Jack sniffed and wiped away her tears. Maybe she should start to consider the possibility Alex really was gone this time.

* * *

They stopped in front of a townhouse with a Ferrari out the front. Alex raised a brow.

"Doesn't he worry about that getting stolen?"

Yassen laughed.

"Vladimir has enough money that he'd have it replaced by the end of the day. Besides, anyone who'd be stupid enough to steal from him would quickly learn their mistake. He has connections all over the city; he'd have at least five people who'd take great delight in hunting down anyone who annoyed him."

Alex frowned.

"And I was going to key the stupid car too."

Yassen snorted and led the way to the front door.

"I'd love to see that," he said as he rang the doorbell, "Vladimir would eat you alive."

Alex opened his mouth to reply, but closed it quickly when an intercom speaker by the door crackled into life.

"Hey, Gregorovich, is that brat with you the Rider kid?" Whoever was talking had a Russian accent a thousand times stronger then Yassen's.

"No," Yassen replied sarcastically, "He's my illegitimate son. Of course it's the Rider kid, idiot, unlock the door."

There was a snort that sounded half amused, half unimpressed.

"A leopard doesn't change its spots hey? You're still grumpy as ever."

Yassen just shook his head in exasperation and walked into the house as the door swung open automatically with a click.

Alex barely had time to absorb an entrance decorated by someone with extremely modern tastes (sparsely furnished and tastefully decorated with recessed lighting, the room looked like it should be a showroom for an extremely expensive mansion), before there was voice.

"Hey there Yassen, you're later then I expected."

Vladimir was shorter then Yassen, but then, most people were. He had close cropped pale brown hair, light blue eyes framed by long lashes and a straight nose. Alex realized with a start that he looked a lot like Yassen.

Vladimir looked at Alex's expression and grinned widely.

"You catch on quick kid!" He said cheerfully, "You see that we look alike, yeah?"

Alex nodded silently and Vladimir grinned at Yassen.

"What'd you do to him? He's not very talkative."

Yassen grunted.

"He's angry at me."

Vladimir considered that for a moment before turning back to Alex.

"So, have you figured out why we look alike yet?"

Alex shrugged.

"I'm guessing you're not brothers."

Yassen snorted and Vladimir shot him a look.

"That's right kid, we're not."

Alex thought about it for a split second

"You're cousins."

Vladimir smiled widely.

"You're damn smart. Now, let's go into the kitchen. You both have got to be hungry."

Alex glanced at Yassen but he just motioned for him to follow Vladimir.

The kitchen was even more modern, all stainless steel, glass and granite countertops. Alex wondered how much it had cost to build.

Vladimir opened his fridge and looked inside.

"Hmm," he mused, "You have a choice of caviar, cold chicken or some cheese that cost me a hundred pounds that I can't actually stand."

Alex decided that the chicken sounded the safest. Vladimir deposited a glass bowl of chicken on the counter and turned to Yassen.

"What about you?"

Yassen shrugged.

"I'm not hungry."

Vladimir looked cold suddenly.

"That's right," he said icily, "You don't need food when you've got your fixes."

Alex shifted uneasily, and picked at the chicken in the bowl, trying to avoid eye contact with Yassen.

"I'm giving it up," Yassen said quietly, seemingly unbothered by his cousin's tone.

Vladimir snorted.

"You obviously haven't heard of the word 'dependence'."

Alex inwardly groaned and kept attacking the chicken, hoping that if he chewed loudly enough, he wouldn't have to hear the conversation that was taking place.

"I have actually, and I have taken that into account…Isn't it a little hypocritical of you to admonish me so loftily when you're the one who organized a dealer for me?"

Vladimir opened his mouth to reply, but caught sight of Alex. His face quickly flicked back to a smile.

"We're upsetting your trainee." He declared easily, "Perhaps we'll discuss this some other time."

Alex thought he heard Yassen mutter something like 'I doubt it'.

"How's the chicken?" Vladimir asked, "Do you want a drink too?"

Alex was overwhelmed by the hospitality. He decided he much preferred Vladimir to Yassen.

"It's good," he said, swallowing a mouthful of the poultry in question, "And what do you have to drink?"

Vladimir looked over at Yassen slyly before turning back to Alex.

"Have you ever had vodka before?" he asked.

Yassen glared at his cousin.

"He's not having alcohol. I'd appreciate it if you didn't corrupt him either."

Alex raised a brow and looked at Yassen impassively.

"And taking me to a terrorist training camp is what then?"

Obviously frustrated at having logic turned against him, Yassen gave in.

"Fine," he muttered, "One."

Vladimir laughed and produced a bottle and two glasses.

"One!" Yassen reminded him, "And a small one at that."

Vladimir just nodded easily and poured a very small amount into one of the glasses. He passed it to Alex.

"Here you go!" He said, "And bottoms up as you English say!"

Alex studied the clear, strong smelling liquid for a moment before gingerly downing it. He winced and coughed a little.

"I'm not sure I understand the attraction."

Vladimir smirked.

"You'll get there," he replied, pouring himself a much larger glass, "Especially if you're anything like your Father."

Alex looked up quickly.

"You met my Father?"

Vladimir nodded.

"Sure," he said, "I helped get Yassen to Scorpia. I checked up on him and met John. He said I was an idiot."

Yassen laughed, the first positive sound he'd made since leaving the apartment.

"He was right," he told Vladimir, "Although I should thank you for getting me off the streets."

Vladimir nodded in mock arrogance.

"That's right," he preened, "you should."

"So you're not actually a part of Scorpia then?" Alex asked, pulling a chicken wing apart idly.

Vladimir shook his head.

"No," he replied with a lazy smile, "I'm actually Russian mafia. I liaison between them and Scorpia a lot though. I do very well for myself. You saw the Ferrari?"

Yassen grinned suddenly and Alex saw the resemblance between him and Vladimir more then ever.

"Alex was tempted to scratch it."

Vladimir suddenly looked very intimidating and cold.

"I hope you warned him about upsetting me?" He asked, "Do I need to tell him about Corey?"

Yassen sat in one of the stools at the counter.

"Why not?" He replied, obviously enjoying the prospect of scaring Alex, "It's an entertaining story."

Vladimir smiled, but this time, there was a sadistic sort of satisfaction in the expression. He turned to Alex.

"Corey Chao worked for me," he said, "he was working on investing some of my money in some chemical weapons projects being run by the Chinese government. He decided that my pay wasn't enough, that he should take a tip from the money he was investing. This tip was to the amount of four hundred thousand pounds."

Alex felt unease stir in his gut. He had a bad feeling that Corey Chao's story was not going to be a happy one.

"Well," Vladimir continued, "I obviously was not amused. I had a man I knew hunt Corey down. Then, I had him be a test subject for the Chinese. They were testing a flesh eating agent at the time. He met a very messy, very painful end."

Alex swallowed dryly. He pushed the chicken away, appetite suddenly gone. Vladimir and Yassen both smiled at his discomfort.

"So do you understand now that it's better not to upset me Alex?" Vladimir asked pleasantly, "Or should I also tell you about a skydiving accident I arranged for an informant who wanted to sell me out?"

Alex shook his head quickly.

"I think I've heard enough." He said weakly.

Yassen laughed quietly and pulled the chicken Alex had discarded over.

"You know what?" he asked, "I think I will have something to eat. And a drink too."

Alex glared at the two Russians. He'd forgotten that just because Vladimir was welcoming and friendly to him didn't mean he wasn't a dangerous man. Vladimir was obviously very vicious and happy with killing. Like his cousin.

Yassen noticed Alex's expression.

"You shouldn't be so childish," he said with a grin, "It's actually very funny."

Alex kept glaring.

"You obviously have a strange sense of humour."

Yassen just shook his head and turned to Vladimir.

"He found out about my drug use," he said with a little less enthusiasm, "He doesn't trust me anymore."

Vladimir looked disapproving.

"I don't blame him."

Yassen shook his head again and looked sullen.

"I said I was giving it up."

Alex snorted and angrily finished the rest of the vodka in his glass. It wasn't so bad this time.

"You shouldn't have started in the first place." He muttered into the glass.

Yassen shot him a resentful look.

"Didn't I tell you I wouldn't apologize?" he growled, "It was my mistake, my decision."

Alex snorted again and put his glass down.

"Whatever," He sighed, "I'm tired."

Vladimir nodded.

"Well, you can get some sleep, but there's something that you need to do first. Follow me."

Alex stood uncertainly and glanced over at Yassen who just looked expressionlessly back at him.

Vladimir beckoned.

"Come on," he said, "it'll take five seconds."

Alex followed the man into his study. There were three computers (One laptop and two desktops) set out on a large workstation. There were also items like scanners, projectors and other indistinguishable machines scattered around the room.

"What do you need?" Alex asked.

Vladimir rifled through one of the drawers of the workstation.

"Well," he said, "you'll need a passport to go through the airport. I'm guessing your passport would be registered to pop up on the airport computers as 'no fly' or something similar. I'm going to arrange a new set of papers for you. I just need your picture first."

"Oh." Alex watched as Vladimir pulled a wafer thin digital camera from the drawer. "What about Yassen?"

Vladimir raised a brow.

"He's got what he needs already." He said vaguely, "Stand against that wall please."

Alex did as he was told and straight away, was nearly blinded by the camera's flash.

Vladimir smiled and motioned that he could step away from the wall. He quickly hooked the camera up to his laptop and started working through a program that seemed to fit Alex's picture to a passport template.

"Hmm, we'll need to alter the photo a little." Vladimir said.

Alex saw that his face was bruised and scratched; a result of his chaotic day. Wearing his hooded sweatshirt, he looked like a gang member who'd been in a fight.

"I guess I won't be modelling for a while." Alex joked, gingerly rubbing one of the bruises over his left cheekbone.

Vladimir laughed shortly and typed something into the program.

"Okay," he said without taking his eyes away from the screen, "You're getting a new identity. Choose a new name for yourself. Make sure the last name starts with the same letter as your original one. It makes it easier to remember if you're questioned."

Alex's mind ran blank.

"Do I get time to decide on one?"

Vladimir frowned.

"This is going to take long enough without you being slow. Also, I'd suggest you choose a Russian name so you can pretend you're related to Yassen. It makes you much less suspicious."

Alex sighed and thought about it for a minute.

"Alright," he decided, "Put me down as Alec Riyarocov."

Vladimir did so.

"That's a creative last name," he said, "Where'd you get it from?"

Alex shrugged.

"There was a Russian girl I knew when I went on holiday to Germany with my Uncle. It's her last name."

Vladimir smiled.

"It's a good name. Will you be able to remember it?"

Alex nodded.

"It's got the first two letters of my real surname."

Vladimir nodded.

"Yes. I'll also put you down as being fifteen and a half. You look older then what you are, so it should be fine. Also, just in case, you were born in St. Petersburg but grew up here in London. You're Yassen's nephew."

Alex frowned.

"Are you really expecting us to be questioned in such depth?"

Vladimir went back to working on the laptop.

"Better safe then sorry. There's a spare bedroom upstairs, first door on the right. You can sleep there. Don't forget your flight is very early, at 3am."

Alex grimaced.

"Don't remind me."

* * *

After a couple of hours, Vladimir finished up and printed off the pages he'd created. Then, he carefully attached covers. He now had a brand-new, British passport in the name of 'Alec Riyarocov' in his hands. He left in on his desk and walked back into the kitchen.

Yassen looked up from the counter where he'd been reading that day's paper.

"Alex is asleep?"

Vladimir shrugged.

"I presume so."

Yassen folded the paper back up and walked to the sink to get a glass of water. There was a water dispenser installed in the fridge, but he preferred the tap water.

"How've you been?" Vladimir asked quietly, "It's been awhile since I've spoken with you."

Yassen took a sip from the glass before answering.

"I've been better," he admitted, "My chest has been hurting again lately."

Vladimir knew that he was one of the few people that his cousin would ever speak honestly to. However, that didn't mean Yassen would necessarily give the answer he was looking for. If he didn't want Vladimir to know something, Yassen would give a reply that was honest, but obviously intended to dodge the actual question.

"I didn't mean physically," Vladimir said, "And you know that. I will say though that I have limited sympathy, you know that you're risking doing yourself further damage by messing around with cocaine."

Yassen didn't reply to that. He just continued drinking his glass of water.

"Well?" Vladimir prompted, "How have you been?"

Yassen sighed and deposited his empty glass in the sink.

"Not good." He said bluntly, "I'd even go as far as to say very bad."

Vladimir nodded slowly.

"I heard that one of the Scorpia psychologists had you placed on suicide watch."

Yassen frowned at his cousin.

"Who told you that?"

Vladimir shrugged.

"I have a lot of friends in Scorpia. I know it's true, so don't deny it."

Yassen grimaced.

"I wasn't going to," he muttered, "It is true."

"What happened? I heard that you tried overdosing."

Yassen's frown was a little angry now.

"Why do you bother asking what happened if you already know?"

Vladimir regarded his cousin evenly.

"I only know the superficial things, like when it happened. I don't know the important details, like why it happened, what state you were in."

Yassen snorted and gave a grim, sardonic sort of smile.

"So you're asking why I tried killing myself?" He asked.

Vladimir poured himself another glass of vodka. He offered a glass to Yassen, but he shook his head.

"Yes," he said, "I am. I want to know why my cousin, the only family I have, tried to kill himself by overdosing himself on a mixture of heroin and cocaine."

Yassen's expression didn't change.

"Because I was tired of life."

Vladimir frowned.

"That's obvious. I'd appreciate a little more detail then that."

Yassen narrowed his eyes.

"Alright, how about this: I realized after Air Force One how truly empty and pointless my life was. The only thing I was good at was killing people, and that hardly brought me any comfort. I had next to no one-"

"You had me." Vladimir pointed out waspishly.

Yassen's smile returned.

"That's right, I had a cousin who I hadn't seen or spoken to in three years."

"That was your fault," Vladimir hissed, "You were the one who refused to stay in contact, who refused to even call or send a message when you heard that your own Aunt had died!"

Yassen just waved the accusation away.

"That's beside the point," he said, "Point is I had no one and nothing. I was in constant pain and there was a good chance I wouldn't even be able to do my job, the one thing I knew, anymore. After awhile, I was diagnosed with severe depression and put on medication. They worked fairly well, and I even stopped using cocaine for awhile. And then, the anti-depressants stopped working."

Vladimir, put his glass down hard. A tiny crack appeared in the bottom of the glass and a trail of vodka swelled from it.

"So were you placed on a new medication?"

Yassen shook his head.

"I never told the psychologist the pills weren't working any more. I just stopped taking them and returned to cocaine. I got worse and worse, taking bigger and bigger doses of cocaine. Every morning I'd wake after shooting myself up and feel like there was no point in even waking up. And then, it hit me."

Vladimir didn't say anything, eyes voicing the horror he was feeling.

Yassen's smile was truly terrible now, completely dead and twisted.

"It hit me that that was the solution, not waking up. Then, somehow, everything would be fine. So, I bought the biggest lot of cocaine yet and even some heroin and just loaded myself full of it. I felt sicker then I had ever been in my life, but I just kept going, thinking that my body had to give up eventually. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on which way you look at it, it didn't quite work out that way. I've never had much tolerance for any sort of drug, be it alcohol, caffeine or cocaine."

Vladimir licked his lips and shook his head.

"What happened?"

Yassen's smile faded away.

"It got to the point where I just couldn't take any more. I was in so much pain and was so sick and far gone; all I could do was lie there and try to breathe. At one point, my mind told me that I was obviously a sad son of a bitch; I couldn't even kill myself properly. That made me try again, but this time I figured that cutting my wrists open would work better. Like I said, I was very far gone, I messed that up to. That's how a friend of mine found me, crammed with drugs and covered in blood on the floor."

Here, Yassen rolled his sleeves up and turned his arms over. There, on the underside of each wrist, were two jagged scars, each about three inches long.

Vladimir released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered.

Yassen nodded and looked away.

"It was obvious what I'd done, so I was lucky enough to be placed under strict supervision straight away. They told me that I was going to stay under suicide watch for a week. I just laughed and said something along the lines of 'how far the mighty have fallen'. I was still completely and utterly high, I had no clue what I was saying most of the time."

Vladimir shakily picked his glass up again. He swore quietly when he realized all the vodka had leaked out through the crack in the glass.

"So, how are you now?" He asked.

Yassen looked up again and shrugged.

"I'm on a new lot of anti-depressants," he said, "Between them and the cocaine I've been alright; well enough to get by each day anyway."

Vladimir shot him a suspicious look.

"You said you were giving the cocaine up earlier; do you mean it?"

Yassen nodded calmly.

"Seeing Alex's face when he saw everything made me feel humiliated. It's a feeling I hate, so I figured that the best way to avoid that was to avoid the source of my humiliation; namely, the cocaine. I know it won't be as easy as that, but then, since when has anything in my life been easy?"

Vladimir seemed satisfied by that.

"Life's a bitch," he said wryly, "You got the worst of her."

Yassen shrugged and there was a small smile on his face.

"Not necessarily," he replied, "If I can regain Alex's trust, I might see a bit of the best."

Vladimir glanced over his shoulder at the stairs.

"You care a lot about Alex."

Yassen nodded serenely.

"He's John's son for one thing. Also, taking care of him gives me a…life purpose? I believe that's how I would explain it."

Vladimir thought about that.

"Maybe you have some deep buried paternal instincts that Alex brings out?" He suggested, "You never had a son, so maybe unconsciously, that's what your mind sees Alex as?"

Yassen snorted in amusement.

"I wouldn't say that to him, he hates me at the moment."

Vladimir looked sad.

"You broke the trust he had in you," he pointed out, "And it'll be hard to earn that trust back. That's the painful truth I'm afraid."

Yassen frowned.

"The painful truth…Sounds like my life story."

* * *

**You gotta admit, angsty Yassen is cool :)**

**1)I've been writing an account of what Yassen was up to between when he was shot on Air Force One (starting when Cray shoots him), and the start of this story. Is anyone interested?**

**2)Do we like Vladimir? Do you guys want him to just pop up from time to time, or do we want him to become a major part of the story at some point?**

**3)Yassen is going to briefly have a thing with an old love interest from the story I mentioned in question one, but she won't stick around. Should Yassen get a new interest? If so, you guys can either create a character (name, age, nationality, history etc.), or choose an already existing, original character.**

**4)Should I include Alex's first mission in this story, or should it be a sequel, sort of leading up to it at the very end of this story? I was thinking of each new mission being in a new story, like the orginal books.**

**Anyway, comments, suggestions and questions are very welcome and encouraged, as always. Speak your mind and I won't be offended**

**Thanks for reading this chappie, I know it was long :)**

**TTFN from vampassassin**


	9. Chapter Nine, General Discomfort

** Awkward Conversations and Sleep Deprivation**

**I am SOOOOO sorry for the time lag between updates! I've been so busy with things like moving house, figuring out some school stuff and god knows what else 0o**

**And I have to warn you, this chappie is very , very long. And really not that great...**

**Disclaimer: I wish...**

* * *

Alex was in the middle of a very nice dream involving Jack cooking dinner for him. Then, the dream seemed to change to him in the middle of an earthquake. He groaned and told the earthquake to piss off.

* * *

Neither Yassen nor Vladimir had slept. They would have had enough time to, but Yassen hadn't wanted to because he didn't sleep much anyway and Vladimir hadn't wanted to because he said that say Yassen did fall asleep, someone needed to stay on watch. So, both of them stayed awake. It was an arrangement that probably wasn't very logical, but neither of them felt like starting an argument about it. Not now, not when they were getting along for the first time in years.

At one o'clock, Yassen realized that he'd probably better wake Alex.

"I'll do it if you want," Vladimir offered, "Alex doesn't strike me as the type of person to take kindly to being woken under these circumstances, especially not by you."

Yassen shook his head.

"No, I'll go."

* * *

Yassen was surprised to realize he felt bad about waking Alex. He looked so relaxed; a significant improvement to the state Yassen had seen him in. He realized that it always seemed he was the common variable in all of Alex's problems. Yassen frowned, he didn't like the maths to that realization.

Still, they had a flight to get. An early one at that.

With a sigh, Yassen shook Alex by the shoulder. Alex promptly rolled over and muttered something like 'piss off freaking earthquake' in his sleep. Yassen raised a brow quizzically and tried again.

This time, Yassen knew Alex was awake, but Alex craftily kept his eyes shut and shuffled away to the other side of the double bed, trying to disguise his movement in a huge breath in. Not impressed, Yassen glared.

"Get up Alex."

"Make me."

Yassen shook his head disapprovingly. The boy was so immature sometimes, it was frustrating beyond words. Then, an idea came to him.

Yassen quickly found the bathroom. There was a glass sitting by the sink, presumably for getting a drink in the middle of the night. Yassen picked it up and filled with cold water. He walked back to the room Alex was sleeping in.

He gave Alex one more chance.

"Get up."

A single finger came as a response. Yassen sighed, he'd tried. Truth be told, given his current frustration with Alex, he really wasn't sorry.

He upended the glass over Alex's head.

"Ah!" Alex yelped, jerking upright, "Shit!"

Yassen put the glass down on the bedside table and looked at Alex in amusement.

"Awake now?"

Alex ran his fingers through his soaking hair.

"What'd you do that for?!" He demanded indignantly, brown eyes attesting that he was very much awake now.

"We have to go the airport."

Alex still looked angry, but he staggered out of bed, rubbing his eyes. His hair stuck up oddly in spikes where he'd run his fingers through it.

"Do I get a shower?"

Yassen snorted.

"What do you think that was?"

* * *

Five minutes later, after much more swearing on Alex's part, and frustration on Yassen's, the pair of them arrived downstairs.

Vladimir looked at Alex with raised brows.

"He's wet." Was all he said, showing a distinct lack of subtlety.

Yassen nodded.

"Yes, he is. He wasn't very cooperative in waking up."

Vladimir grinned, obviously figuring out what had happened.

"You should do what Yassen says next time," he told Alex, "Just consider yourself grateful he didn't do anything worse, like replace the water with spiders."

Alex just scowled and changed the subject.

"It's going to look suspicious that we only have carry-on luggage."

Yassen shrugged.

"That can't be helped," he replied, before turning to Vladimir, "Where's his passport?"

Vladimir handed it over and despite himself, Alex looked impressed.

"Cool."

Yassen looked over Alex's shoulder.

"Alec Riyarocov?"

Alex closed the passport, unappreciative of Yassen reading over his shoulder.

"What's wrong with it?" He demanded defensively.

Yassen shrugged.

"Nothing, it's very good actually. Now come on, we're going to the airport in Vladimir's car."

Alex brightened.

"The Ferrari?"

Vladimir laughed.

"What part of 'covert' don't you understand? No, we're going in the BMW."

Alex was disappointed. Despite his words about scratching it, he'd really wanted to go in the Ferrari.

* * *

Thanks to the fact it was very early, they made it to the airport in record time. As they pulled up in the short term parking lot, Vladimir spoke up.

"Don't forget your flying first class." He grinned, "My treat."

Alex felt that that made up a tiny bit for missing out on the Ferrari. Barely. Ferrari's were cooler then first class plane tickets.

As they walked through the lobby area of the airport, Yassen looked at the tickets curiously.

"Mediterranean Airlines?" He asked.

Vladimir nodded easily.

"They're very small and very expensive. Consider them a 'by special demand' airline."

Yassen didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway. It was a bit late for doubts.

"Where's their check-in desk?" Alex asked, looking around. He was starting to wake up properly now, although he still had that pale 'how am I even walking at this hour?!' look to him.

Vladimir grinned widely.

"They don't have one."

Alex frowned.

"So, how do we get boarding passes?"

Vladimir's smile grew in size.

"You don't need them. I had a word with some of necessary people."

Yassen raised a brow.

"You bribed them?"

Vladimir pretended to look offended.

"Bribe?" He repeated in an injured tone, "Why would I need to do that? Maybe I'm just good with people? Maybe they appreciate my charming personality?"

Yassen grinned suddenly.

"So you bribed and blackmailed them. I understand now."

Vladimir shrugged.

"I merely did what I do best. The mafia do not hire me on good looks alone, despite the fact that my features are in fact a marvel in themselves."

Yassen raised a brow.

"Did they also hire you on the basis of your narcissistic personality?

Vladimir scowled good naturedly and motioned for them to follow him.

"If you're not careful, I'll move you to something like British Airways or Air France. Economy."

Yassen laughed.

"I suppose I'm meant to take this opportunity to thank you profusely for your help in getting us out of here?"

Alex noticed that Yassen cast a suspicious eye over anyone in the general vicinity as he said this. He obviously didn't want to run the risk of the wrong people overhearing them. In this day and age, it wouldn't even have to British Intelligence that overheard them, any nervous passenger who'd watched too many documentaries on terrorism would do the same amount of damage.

Vladimir led the way to a thick looking metal door set between an Arrivals boards and a currency exchange kiosk. There was a keypad by the door, but Vladimir quickly and effortlessly tapped the six digit code in and then swiped a key card in the slot by the doorknob. The door buzzed electronically and Vladimir happily opened it, letting Alex and Yassen through first. He shut the door quickly behind them.

Alex wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't this. A wide, spacious room decorated tastefully with dark, glossy floorboards one side and a bar on the other. In the timber half, there were expensive looking leather armchairs and a low coffee table with piled high with magazines.

"Are these my customers?"

Alex looked up sharply. A plump woman with dark skin, chocolate eyes and ebony hair piled up off her face smiled at them. She wore a pair of black jeans and a simple white blouse. There was an orange nylon anorak hanging from her arm.

"Isabis!" Vladimir crowed, "You came to meet me!"

Isabis snorted ungracefully and shook her head.

"I came to meet the cousin you tell me so much about."

Yassen raised a brow and glanced at Vladimir.

"You talk about me?" He asked, "I wonder how much of it is complimentary."

Isabis smiled showing very white teeth.

"Not much, but he shows love through nasty insults I think." She said in amusement, before studying Yassen.

"You have a big reputation all over the world," She told him, "I didn't believe Vladimir when he said he was related to you."

Yassen looked amused in a wry sort of way.

"Hopefully my reputation is not as prominent as you say otherwise I won't be able to go anywhere without being pointed, and more worryingly, shot at."

Isabis grinned again and shrugged.

"Nothing like a nice bit of notoriety." She said nonchalantly. Then, she turned to Alex.

"Are you Yassen's son?" She asked interestedly, "You don't look like him very much. You only have the same hair and eyes."

Alex frowned.

"My eyes are brown, not blue."

Isabis waved that aside.

"I meant the same expression, not colour. So are you his son?"

Alex subtly glanced over Isabis's shoulder at Vladimir. He had Alex's fake passport in his hand and was tapping it meaningfully.

"Uh, no," He replied, "I'm his nephew. I live with him because my Father is dead."

Yassen glared at Alex over Isabis's head, obviously unhappy with the added details. Alex ignored him, figuring he could do what he wanted.

"Poor thing," Isabis cooed, "That must be horrible. What about your Mother?"

Starting to enjoy himself, Alex was just going to launch into a story about a failed actress Mother who dramatically committed suicide by jumping off a bridge and into a raging river when Vladimir suddenly intervened.

"Isabis my dear," He said casually, throwing his arm around the shorter woman's shoulders, "Why bother with those two boring excuses for humans when you could talk to a charming individual like me?"

Isabis laughed.

"Charming like a mangy dog maybe. That last shipment you sent me was half the size you promised! I had to ward off angry customers for a week straight! And I didn't ask for…"

Satisfied that Isabis was distracted, Yassen approached Alex.

"What were you thinking?" He hissed furiously, "Don't do that again, especially not just to make me angry! Stick to the basic details and not a single name, date or goddamn thing more! This is risky enough without you deciding to create a TV show on the spot! You're really pissing me off; you're an insult to your father's memory right now!"

Alex went pale at that last part, but still managed to glare at Yassen. There was definitely nothing polite in the way he regarded the Russian.

"I was using my initiative!" Alex replied, "Which everyone's always trained me to do!"

Yassen grunted derisively.

"Don't lie to me Alex; you only did all that to annoy me."

Alex worked an expression of false surprise onto his face.

"Why can't I lie?" He asked, "You do it all the time to me."

It suddenly felt about ten degrees colder. Vladimir glanced over at Alex and Yassen sharply, apparently having overheard that last bit of conversation. Isabis happily babbled on.

"And you didn't give me the silencers I wanted…"

Yassen stared at Alex as if he wanted nothing more then to hit him, hard. Which he probably did.

"I'm sorry, was that a low blow?" Alex asked sweetly, "Well, I guess I'm learning from you already."

Vladimir suddenly appeared behind Yassen, looking grim. Alex realized he couldn't meet the man's eye.

"That's enough," he said lowly, "From both of you. Isabis is piloting the plane, you're going now."

Yassen nodded tightly and walked off. Vladimir watched his cousin go before turning to Alex.

"You're making a mistake," Vladimir said, sounding sad, "He's trying to do the right thing for you. You should at least appreciate that and trust him."

Alex's expression didn't change.

"To use his line, it's my decision," he replied coolly, "And I won't trust him, not after the drugs and what he said just then about-"

"Your father?" Vladimir interrupted, "Well, Yassen was right. Your father would have been mature enough not to let something like this risk the safety of everyone around him."

Alex opened his mouth to answer, but he was forced to close it. He couldn't find an argument to counter that. Vladimir nodded at him, obviously satisfied his point had been made.

"Hurry and follow Yassen," Vladimir said, pointing to another door, "This is one flight you can't miss."

Alex frowned.

"You aren't going to say goodbye to your own cousin?"

Vladimir shook his head.

"Yassen doesn't like goodbyes," he said complacently, "Besides; I'll be seeing both of you sooner or later."

Alex realized that he liked Vladimir and was sad to be saying goodbye so soon.

"Well, see you some other time then," Alex said uncertainly.

Vladimir looked at Alex, head slightly to the side with a bemused sort of smile on his face.

"Don't be so depressing; I said I'll see you again. I'm finally back in contact with Yassen; I'm not losing that again any time soon."

Alex shrugged and made to turn away but Vladimir suddenly called him back.

"Sorry, I didn't ask before," the man said in amusement, "But do you like soccer? You seem like the type…"

Alex grinned, although he had no idea why Vladimir was asking.

"Yes, I support Chelsea."

Vladimir frowned comically.

"Pity, I support Liverpool."

* * *

The plane they would be travelling in was a Learjet 85 and with a range of 3,000 nautical miles, it would have no problem getting them to Melita Airport in Tunisia. The interesting thing was the plane itself.

The interior seemed to consist of some soft, cushioning material in a shade that Alex thought would have a name like 'snow white beige'. There were several large plasma screens mounted on various surfaces, each one with all the accessories like DVD players and ports for connecting laptops. They also had portable keypads which were kept in wall mounted brackets when not in use. Alex was impressed.

Isabis stood in front of him, grinning her wide white grin.

"There's also drinks in the fridges underneath the table." She said cheerfully, "Enjoy your flight on Mediterranean Airlines."

Waiting until the woman disappeared into the cockpit, Alex turned to Yassen.

"How long is this flight going to be?"

Yassen shrugged and sat down in one of the nearby seats.

"The plane can reach Mach 0.82, that's 1005 kilometers an hour. It's roughly the same distance to Melita Airport. So, we'll be here for about an hour."

Alex sat down in a seat as well, deliberately choosing one that was a good distance from Yassen.

"I didn't ask for a whole math lesson." He muttered, buckling himself in.

Yassen resisted the urge to render Alex unconscious or at least extremely silent. His patience for Alex's immaturity was running very low.

* * *

They'd only been in the air for fifteen minutes, but Alex was already bored. Despite his painfully early start, he couldn't sleep. He didn't feel like reading any of the magazines provided and one look at Yassen's expression told him that turning the TV on would be a bad idea. Possibly a lethal one.

So, he rummaged around in the mini-fridge. To his severe disappointment, there were no peanuts (or any food for that matter) in there. Alex groaned.

"What's wrong?" Yassen asked, looking up from his copy of 'Soldier of Fortune'.

Alex made a point of ignoring the Russian.

"That's it Alex," Yassen said grimly, throwing his magazine back on the table, "I've had enough of your shit; you and I are going to have a talk."

Alex decided to play the 'smartass' card.

"Er, no thanks," He replied, "I've already had that talk."

Yassen just glared and Alex knew that given that they were on a plane several thousand feet in the air, he had no choice but to cooperate. He sat back in his seat and folded his arms in a manner that clearly displayed his resentment of the situation.

Yassen didn't hesitate.

"Alright, I've been fairly patient and I'll admit I should have been considering what I did," The Russian said, "But at the same time, I'd expect a little maturity from you. Instead, you've been absurdly childish and have even put your safety and that of the mission's at risk!"

Alex was really starting to wish they hadn't forgotten the peanuts on this flight. He had that despised feeling of guilt and pity crawling back up.

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't care about the cocaine anymore." Alex muttered, looking down at his feet.

Yassen raised a brow.

"What then?"

Alex looked up and glared.

"You called me an insult to my father. I don't see why I should forget that."

Yassen looked like he had been caught out.

"I'm sorry I said that," he replied, obviously genuine in his apology, "It's not true."

Alex gave a small shrug.

"It still wasn't fair. I never got to meet my father so it's not right that people automatically compare me to him. I am a separate person to my father, and not just living as a memory to him."

Yassen nodded.

"You're a lot like John, but you're very different at the same time. John never could have made the decisions you have."

"I don't know about that," Alex said, "He was a great agent."

Yassen smiled slightly.

"Don't misunderstand me; John was a great man, but he was human all the same and as such, had human faults. He was fairly narrow minded for instance; he always saw everything in black and white and that wasn't always for the best."

Alex felt sad suddenly.

"I wish I'd known him."

Yassen looked sad too.

"Maybe I'll tell you about him some day. If you want to hear it from me." That last part was casually nonchalant, as if Yassen didn't really care. Alex knew it the nonchalance was fake though.

Alex realized then what Vladimir had been trying to tell him; that Yassen could have abandoned him with a clear conscience several times, that Yassen was all he had now and he should appreciate that. He felt bad. Really bad in fact. Guilt was such a bitch sometimes.

"Yeah, I'd like that." Alex muttered, "And I'm sorry that-"

Yassen cut him off, shaking his head sharply.

"Don't bother with apologies, I know what you mean."

Alex squirmed in his seat uncomfortably for a few seconds before speaking again.

"I always wondered what people do on planes when they forget the peanuts."

Yassen smiled.

"Now you know."

Alex yawned and rubbed his face wearily.

"How much longer have we got?"

"Forty five minutes, maybe half an hour."

Alex sighed.

"Great."

Yassen frowned and looked around the cabin.

"You can watch something on television if you really want to."

Alex shook his head.

"I'm not in the mood and I haven't got the attention span at the moment. My arm and ribs are hurting."

"Do you want anything for the pain?" Yassen asked.

Alex shook his head again and shifted to a more comfortable position in his seat.

"No, it's not too bad. I'm just bored mostly. I always get bored on any sort of flight."

"I don't like flying myself," Yassen admitted.

Alex was interested by that, he hadn't seen any sign of distaste in the Russian expression or body language.

"Really?"

Yassen nodded calmly.

"I get claustrophobic, I hate small spaces."

Alex was amused by that. He realized how little he knew about the man he was entrusting his life to. He figured that knowing Yassen was claustrophobic was an okay start, but more information was required if he was going to join a terrorist organization under this man's guardianship.

"What else are you afraid of?" Alex asked, "Don't say nothing because I know everyone is afraid of a lot of things."

Yassen look at him quizzically.

"Are you planning to use these things against me? If so, I'm afraid you're not being very subtle about it."

Alex shrugged.

"I just figured that since I'm basically living with you now I should at least know something about you. Ash told me some things…"

Yassen looked over sharply at the mention of Ash.

"Such as?"

Alex felt on edge suddenly, like saying the wrong thing would have serious consequences. Maybe it was the feeling that he was prying by knowing what he did about Yassen's past.

"I just asked him what he could tell me about you, that's all."

Yassen looked bewildered now, a rarity for him.

"Why would you be interested in me? You thought I was dead…"

Alex smiled humorlessly.

"Well, your killing my Uncle was what completely destroyed my life. And then you had the curious habit of not killing me or saving me when it would have been perhaps most fitting to do so. It makes one curious."

Yassen absorbed that thoughtfully.

"How did Ash reply?"

Alex knew that he'd thought Yassen dead at the time, but he still felt nosy.

"Um, just where you were born and what happened to your family and stuff."

"And stuff," Yassen repeated to himself. Then, he looked up at Alex.

"I'd wondered how you knew about me growing up on the streets."

Alex realized Yassen was changing the subject. It seemed to be a skill the Russian used with little discretion and great zest. Apparently Yassen realized Alex had caught on, the Russian shifted uncomfortably and regarded Alex with a fathomless expression.

"Ash probably told you anything worth knowing about me."

Alex looked away, still hurt by the memory of Ash. Yassen looked sad too.

"So, what was it like when your parents died?" Alex asked suddenly, apparently deciding that he was going to get to ask his questions.

Yassen looked momentarily surprised, but then smiled, amused by Alex's directness.

"Well, it wasn't pleasant," Yassen said slowly, "I can tell you that. Imagine…Well, it's not really imagining for you, but regardless, imagine that the only world you've known all your life swept away in a split second. My family was very poor, but we were very close. I felt like I might cope when my Father died. But then, six months later, my Mother died too. Everything just seemed hopeless."

Alex felt sad, trying to imagine Yassen as a fourteen year old boy on his own. It wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be.

"Ash said you lived on the streets of Moscow…"

Yassen smiled humorlessly.

"I'd love to know how he found out so much about me."

Alex just shrugged and Yassen sighed.

"Yes, I did. I hid in freight trains that traveled across Russia until I got to Moscow. I spent the first few weeks being beaten by street gangs whose territory I'd unwillingly entered and wondering through the city lost. After awhile, I learnt how to avoid the thugs or at least befriend higher up criminals. Eventually, someone referred me to the local mafiya. I did alright for a street orphan then, making enough money delivering drugs and weapons to buy myself medicine and food. After two years, things looked like they might eventually work out."

Alex considered that, remembering what else Ash had said on the plane.

"How'd you find Scorpia?"

Yassen's expression was difficult to read now.

"One of the handlers I worked for knew a well connected mafiya sponsored man who was looking for a person of my name and age after hearing about what happened in Estrov. The handler introduced me to this man."

Alex connected the dots.

"Vladimir?"

Yassen nodded approvingly.

"Very astute of you. Yes, it was Vladimir, the cousin I'd never met or heard of. It turned out that he was the only other family member I had."

Alex frowned, suddenly thinking of something.

"Why didn't he help you before if he was so wealthy?"

Yassen laughed.

"Believe me, I asked him the same things. It turned out that my Father had all but declared a family feud against him. My Father was a hard worker and very honest, Vladimir's criminal habits disgusted him."

Alex realized that Yassen's story was generating a lot of questions for him.

"Is Vladimir older then you then?"

"Yes," Yassen said, "Four years older then me, although he's so immature sometimes that you'd never know it."

"So what's the connection between meeting Vladimir and you joining Scorpia?"

Yassen shrugged.

"Remember Vladimir told you he was a liaison between the Russian mafiya and Scorpia? Well, he told me I had a lot of potential and that I'd do very well to work for Scorpia. I jumped at the chance to get off the streets."

Alex thought about that for awhile before asking a question that had been bothering him for awhile.

"Is everyone at the camp going to hate me?"

Yassen considered the question thoughtfully.

"Not hate you, no," He decided, "But they'll be looking to torment you. None of the older members who'd kill you on sight survived the takeover, but a lot of people will consider you a danger to the organization. You're going to have to work harder then you've ever worked before to prove yourself."

Alex laughed uneasily.

"But no pressure."

Yassen smiled at Alex's obvious nervousness.

"You'll be fine. And if anyone does anything stupid, you either kick their ass or ask me to."

Alex snorted.

"That'll look good."

* * *

By the time they reached Melita airport, Alex was in no mood to do anything other then sleep. He was bruised, battered and tired as a result of recent events and the idea of the further journey by car that was ahead did nothing to boost his spirit.

The man at customs seemed to take an interest in Alex's passport. Tired and nervous, Alex just hung his head and stood behind Yassen. The Russian talked quickly to the man in Arabic.

"What is the purpose of your visit to Tunisia?" The man asked.

Yassen shrugged.

"Visiting friends," He replied in flawless albeit unaccented Arabic, "And business associates."

The man took another glance at Alex.

"Your son?"

"No, my nephew," Yassen said, trying to gauge how interested the other man was, "He is very tired and doesn't speak Arabic."

The man squinted and rubbed what had to be at least four days worth of stubble.

"He looks a bit roughed up."

Yassen inwardly cursed as he realized that Alex's bruises and cuts were all too visible and they were what had caught this man's attention.

"He loves mountain biking," He invented quickly; "Unfortunately he's not so skilled with staying _on_ the bike."

The man's expression cleared, he gave a throaty chuckle.

"Boys will be boys, you two can go through."

Yassen muttered a quick thank-you and hurried Alex through. He heard an elderly woman being subjected to the same process behind them. Border security at its finest.

"What'd he want?" Alex asked dully, more out of a reflex then actual interest.

"Nothing Alex," Yassen replied shortly, "Now I'm looking for the woman who'll be driving us to the camp. She's about five eight and has black, straight hair that's around chin length. She'll probably be wearing a purple shirt."

In reality, Yassen could see the woman he was looking for, but he wanted to see how observant Alex was.

Alex gave the Russian a long suffering look.

"Nine O'clock, by the man wearing the leather jacket." He sighed, "She's also wearing a dark purple sleeveless shirt with cargo pants and smirking at you from behind what look like expensive sunglasses."

Yassen gave Alex a small smile.

"Good work," He said approvingly, leading the way over to the woman, "And just a warning, Zarina doesn't speak and tends to be annoyed when people act…differently because of it. Don't annoy her; she's very good with knives."

Alex blinked; it seemed he didn't know anyone even remotely normal anymore.

"Why doesn't she speak?"

Yassen shrugged and Alex saw something akin to guilt and unease cross the Russian's face.

"A North Korean agent she went head to head with was just as good with knives. She survived the bleeding but lost the use of her voice. Just _don't_ do anything stupid."

Despite the bone deep fatigue he felt, Alex managed to grin cheekily.

"Who, me?"

Yassen suddenly looked just as tired as Alex.

* * *

Zarina was still smirking when Yassen and Alex drew level with her. Alex noticed she was very beautiful and had a slim, cross shaped scar running diagonally across her throat. He shivered slightly, thinking of what sort of wound put that there.

"It's good to see you again," Yassen smiled, a gesture that surprised Alex. He realized that the Russian was looking at the younger woman protectively and slightly anxiously.

Zarina's smile was less sarcastic now and gentler. She dipped her head in a gesture Alex took to mean, 'you too'. Then, she looked at Alex appraisingly.

"Um, hi?" Alex said lamely, trying to think of what the woman expected of him, "I'm Alex."

Zarina took her sunnies off and Alex saw she had almond shaped eyes that sparkled in amusement. She gave a silent laugh and rolled her eyes.

_No shit __Sherlock_

Alex blushed, realizing how stupid he must sound.

"I'm going to shut up," he muttered, "before I really embarrass myself."

Zarina's smile was teasing now. She turned back to Yassen and motioned for both of them to follow her.

Grudgingly forcing his aching body into following the Russian and Zarina, Alex yawned.

"We've got a drive now don't we?"

Yassen nodded distractedly.

"It'll take a couple of hours; you can sleep on the way if you want. I'll wake you when we get to the camp."

"Oh good," Alex yawned again as they walked out into the cool darkness of pre-dawn morning, "Sleep I mean. Sleep is good."

They stopped in front of a khaki colored Hummer. Zarina climbed up into the driver's seat and waited patiently whilst Alex climbed into the back and Yassen sat in the other front seat.

Yassen saw that the seatbelt warning light was flashing on the car's dashboard.

"Alex, put your seatbelt on." He sighed. When he got no response, Yassen turned around to look in the back of the car. He couldn't help but smile in amusement when he saw Alex, already asleep, in his seat.

* * *

Alex didn't feel like he'd slept at all when he woke. Rather, he had that odd sensation of being jerked awake after dozing off for less then a minute. The usual disorientation came along with the awakening, so he simply sat with his eyes closed, blearily trying to figure out where he was and what was going on.

Then he heard Yassen's voice and remembered he was in a car with the Russian and the strange, beautiful and unspeaking woman, Zarina. Alex realized Yassen was speaking to Zarina, so he stayed still and quiet, interested in the Russian's words. He watched the pair through eyes he opened just a little.

"You know, even though you say you forgive me, I still feel guilty every time I see you." Yassen didn't look at Zarina as he spoke. Alex could hear awkwardness in the man's voice.

Zarina looked away from the road for a moment and looked at Yassen with an amazing compassion and sadness that Alex had seldom seen in his life. Somehow, Alex knew what Zarina was trying to communicate.

_I wish you didn't._

Apparently Yassen understood as well, because he grimaced.

"That puts me in a dilemma," he said, "I don't want to do something you don't want me to, but I'm still going to feel guilty."

Zarina turned back to the road, but not before rolling her eyes.

_Idiot._

"You're not the first to think that," Yassen laughed slightly, "And you won't be the last."

Utterly confused, Alex meant to open his eyes fully and let Yassen know he was awake. However, what came out instead was a small yawn and another wave of drowsiness. Maybe another hour or so of sleep wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

Alex was emerged in his cocoon of sleep when a sudden wave of alarm swept through him. Gasping, his eyes flew open and he lunged forward, ready to fight whatever had disturbed him.

Yassen pulled his hand back from where he'd been reaching out to shake Alex awake.

"Thank god you weren't carrying a knife," The Russian said, sounding a little shocked, "I think I would have lost several fingers and I'm rather attached to all ten as it happens."

Alex blinked in confusion, still trying to figure out where the danger was. Yassen looked less shocked now and more worried. He grabbed Alex by the arm and shook him gently.

"Alex, it's okay," Yassen said firmly, "It's just me, alright?"

Alex looked at Yassen with wide, shell-shocked eyes. The Russian felt his worry deepen, something was wrong with Alex.

"Alex?"

Alex shook himself and Yassen saw a little comprehension enter his eyes.

"W-what…" Alex stopped and started again. "What happened?"

Yassen tried to sound as calm as he could given his anxiety for Alex.

"Nothing's happened Alex," The Russian said slowly, "I was just going to wake you because we're at the camp."

"Nothing happened?" Alex's eyes narrowed, as if he was somehow unwilling to accept he was actually safe for once.

"Nothing."

Alex let out a shuddering breath and relaxed. Yassen saw life flood back into his eyes.

"Sorry," Alex muttered, shamefaced, "I don't know why I do that. It's been going on since Venice."

Yassen glanced over his shoulder where Zarina was standing behind him. She looked concerned. He turned back to Alex looking grim.

"Alex, do you want to know what I think?" The Russian asked.

Alex felt unease stir in his belly but he shrugged nonchalantly and laughed shortly.

"Why not?"

Yassen didn't look at all convinced by his act; he frowned and shook his head.

"I think your…_time_ with MI6 left you with an injury."

Alex frowned as well.

"Do you mean my old sniper wound?"

Yassen sighed and moved aside so Alex could follow him out of the car. Outside if the Hummer, it was just turning to dawn. He saw they were completely surrounded by desert and outside of what looked like a military compound. He ignored his surroundings for the time being though.

"No Alex, I'm not talking about physical injuries," Yassen said wearily, "I'm talking about…Well, have you heard of PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

Alex _really_ didn't like where this conversation was going.

"Yes, I was taught a little about it in the Brecon Beacons," He replied slowly, "Are you trying to say…?"

Yassen didn't say anything, but Alex got it anyway.

"Oh," he muttered, "I have PTSD. Great."

Yassen tried to formulate the right words. After awhile, he just gave up and went with his gut feeling.

"It's not as bad as you'd think," He said, "You can recover. It just takes a little time."

Alex listened closely to Yassen's words, an odd expression on his face.

"How long did it take you?"

Yassen seemed to start. He turned sharply to face Alex.

"What?"

Alex smiled knowingly.

"Did you know you wince slightly every time you hear a gunshot?"

Yassen glanced at Zarina who was doing her best to look uninterested in the conversation.

"No I don't."

Alex grinned.

"Yes you do, you looked almost like you were scared when Donati went nuts and started shooting back in London. Plus you weren't quite as shoot-em-up as I remembered from before all this. You've developed some sort of reaction to gunshots or even just loud noises."

Yassen looked half pissed off, half shocked.

"You smart little shit!"

Alex shrugged and tried to wipe the grin off his face.

"Not really, it was pretty obvious."

Zarina shot Alex a quick grin from behind Yassen. Alex had to duck his head so Yassen wouldn't think he had cracked or that he was laughing at him. The pathetic thing was that it was actually a little of both.

"Okay," Alex managed to say with only a hint of his hysterical amusement, "Seriously though, how bad am I by your standards?"

Yassen laughed humorlessly and kept walking.

"Very."

* * *

La tomba della sabbia was like hell on Earth, only hotter and drier. The main part of the compound was about two square kilometers and this encompassed one large 'administrative' facility, three main sleeping/ living areas (that included toilet facilities), an eating mess, a large medical building, a dojo, firing range, fast driving obstacle course, five classrooms and a large warehouse that was used for anything from instinctive firing classes to urban warfare.

Alex hadn't had much time to admire the scenery though; Yassen had thought it a good idea to be inside and talking to the camp director before the current trainees were up and about. Alex had agreed that that was a prudent idea.

So, they ended up in the administrative building, in a large office decorated in what Alex supposed was a rather surrealist style.

"Nice of you to turn up again Gregorovich."

Yassen didn't look away from where he was idly looking at an odd abstract statuette on a nearby bookcase.

"Well, I figured people would start to miss me." He replied blankly.

Alex turned around to see a thirty-something man he guessed to be just below 6 foot with short, dark hair standing with his arms crossed across his broad chest.

"That would be an optimistic hope at best," The man laughed, "Downright stupid at worst."

Yassen finally turned around now and surveyed the man with eyes that were oddly expressionless.

"What a pity, I thought you'd appreciate that I brought a new trainee."

The man looked over at Alex now with a narrow eyed, appraising stare. Tired and sore as he was, Alex did his best to meet the stare evenly.

"Well, that depends on how valuable Mr. Rider proves himself to be." The man said slowly. Alex noticed he had an Australian accent.

Alex realized from Yassen's pointed look he was meant to give some sort of response to what was a subtle challenge.

"I know how valuable I am," Alex said firmly, "And so will you once you give me half a chance."

The man smiled genuinely and offered Alex a hand. Alex took it after a split-second's hesitation.

"Chris Drummond," The Australian man said, "I'm in charge of this cozy little camp-out."

Alex smiled as well, warming a little to the stern looking man.

"You already know my name," Alex replied, "So I guess there's not much for me to say."

Chris' smile had an edge of steel now.

"I wouldn't say that necessarily, I have quite a few questions to ask you and your fairy god-mother here."

Yassen snorted.

"Fairy god-mother?"

Chris shot the Russian a cold look.

"I wouldn't be so blasé with me considering you ran off halfway through the therapy I _ordered_ you undergo. I don't appreciate upstart assassins getting the idea they don't have to listen to me."

Yassen shot Chris a filthy look.

"Last time I checked I did what I want."

"Not when doing what you want means attempting suicide and scaring the shit out of everyone." Chris replied angrily.

Alex's eyes widened as he registered Chris' words.

"What?!" He gaped, turning to Yassen, "You did _what_?!"

Yassen scowled at Chris, obviously unhappy with the camp director revelation of his attempted suicide.

"Thanks for that." He muttered sarcastically.

Chris frowned at the Russian, looking both unhappy and slightly puzzled.

"You didn't tell Alex that you were put into therapy with our psychologist after you tried overdosing?"

Alex felt like he'd been slugged in the stomach.

"Um no, he didn't!"

Yassen looked a little ashamed. He wouldn't look at either of them.

"It was a mistake."

Alex wasn't impressed. He was however, very pissed off.

"_Another_ one?" He demanded, "How many do you _make_?"

Chris looked slightly lost now. His brows were almost level with his hairline and still rising.

"Sorry, what's going on?"

"Nothing!" Yassen and Alex snapped at the same time, neither looking at the dark haired man.

Chris shook his head in irritation. He seemed to realize that getting any sensible answers out of either Yassen or Alex was a lost cause.

"Alright, here's what's happening," he interrupted, "I'm going to deal with both of you right now and then, I'll figure out what needs to be done after that."

Alex looked away from where he was glaring at Yassen.

"What do you mean 'deal with us'?"

Chris' smile was back.

"A few polite questions, nothing more."

* * *

Two hours later and Alex and Yassen were still answering questions. Or rather, Alex was answering as honestly as he could considering the fact that Yassen was lying about everything as often as he could. Alex was being forced into supporting the Russian's lies otherwise their stories would have conflicted and then all hell would have broken loose.

"Alright, nearly finished," Chris said eventually, after asking for them to repeat past events for the third time, "I just need to ask a few more personal questions now."

Alex shifted uneasily in his seat. He was fighting back the urge to fall asleep where he sat and he really didn't like the sound of 'personal questions'. Personal questions, in his experience, usually meant 'questions to figure out exactly how fucked up you are'. He already _knew_ he was messed up; he didn't need someone else confirming that!

"Personal how?"

Fortunately, Chris seemed to understand Alex's hesitance; he shrugged sympathetically.

"Well, I already have a bone to pick with Yassen here concerning some of his past actions, but I was also told you might need psychological examination."

Alex's sinking feeling was confirmed and from what he could see of Yassen's expression, the Russian felt the same way. Alex was a little cheered by that; no matter his problems, at least he hadn't tried killing himself like Yassen had.

Either eager to get the questioning out of the way or not willing to give the other two a chance to preplan answers, Chris dove in.

"Alright Gregorovich," he growled, "The first one's for you. I don't suppose you were actually smart enough to get yourself the help I ordered whilst you were out doing whatever the hell it was you were doing?"

Yassen regarded Chris Drummond through narrowed eyes for a long moment, obviously trying to assemble what he considered a suitable answer. Eventually, the Russian seemed to give up on that.

"No," he said flatly, "I didn't."

Chris nodded as though in satisfaction and wrote something down in a notebook Alex hadn't noticed before on his handsome desk.

"Didn't think so," he muttered, "But I would like to know exactly what you were doing then?"

Alex looked away, not sure whether his expression would give anything away that Yassen would be unhappy with.

"I was running recruitment exercises for the London branch," Yassen said blankly, too guiltless to be believable by any standards, "Ask O'Brien if you think I'm lying."

Chris Drummond laughed shortly.

"I just might," he replied, "But first of all, I'd like the full story please."

Alex watched interestedly as Yassen arranged an expression of surprised innocence on his face. Chris didn't look impressed.

"Don't give me that shit," he grunted, "I know you're not telling me everything, Vladimir was kind enough to hint that I might want to ask about a man named Norris Singh?"

Yassen didn't say anything; he just turned away with a furiously set jaw.

Chris stood, leaning forward over his desk with murder in his eyes.

"I'll look this man up myself if I have to, or ask your cousin. I'm sure Vladimir would be very disappointed to know how uncooperative you're being."

That at least seemed to get a reaction from Yassen. The Russian turned back to face the other man and Alex inwardly cringed at the bitter smile on Yassen's face. Chris looked momentarily startled before adopting the same hard expression from before.

"Alright, I'll tell you who Norris Singh is," Yassen said mordantly, "He was my cocaine dealer. Happy now?"

Chris sighed and sat down again, looking very tired suddenly. He rubbed the side of his face with his knuckles. Alex noticed a small scar, almost like a shaving nick only larger, on his jaw.

"Not really." Chris muttered through his fingers.

"Well then," Yassen said in the same acerbic tone, "I guess some people are just never satisfied."

Chris shook his head slowly, almost as if he was too tired to do anything else.

"Right, I think I'm done with you," he muttered, "Now go down to the medical clinic. The nurse there is expecting you."

Yassen hesitated, looking at Alex with a surprising expression in his eyes. Alex realized it was worry; Yassen was worried about leaving him. Alex realized that apart from Jack, he couldn't remember anyone besides Ian who'd been like that with him.

Chris wasn't so sentimental about it.

"Go do as I say!" He growled, "Before I boot you down there myself!"

Yassen looked away from Alex and stood gracefully, flashing Chris a self-assured smile.

"I'd love to see you try." He taunted before leaving the room.

There was an almost ringing silence after the Russian left. Chris muttered something under his breath; Alex thought it sounded like 'smug little asshole'. Then, Chris smiled at Alex.

"A word to the wise kid," He said wryly, "Don't ever get yourself into a position where you have to try and exercise some authority over people like Yassen. The stress only shortens your lifespan."

Alex smiled uncertainly. He wasn't entirely sure where he stood with Chris Drummond, the man was unpredictable it seemed.

"Okay," Chris brightened a little, obviously trying to be friendly, "First things first. I know you had a prior connection to Yassen, but how did you end up with him again this time?"

"I walked out of school," Alex said carefully, "And was in the same chemist that Yassen and his trainee happened to rob at the same time. I didn't know it was Yassen at the time. His trainee-"

"-Donati," Chris interrupted, "I know who you're talking about. Big Portuguese bloke with the constitution of a two legged Doberman."

Alex allowed himself a small grin, the description was perfect.

"Yeah, him. Well, Donati tried shooting me. Yassen stopped him though; I was only hit in the arm."

Warming to his story, Alex pulled up his sleeve and proudly displayed his bandaged arm. Chris looked curious.

"Only?" He repeated, slightly incredulous, "You sound like you've been shot before."

Well and truly bragging now, Alex nodded sagely.

"In the chest," he agreed, "I nearly died."

Chris blinked, an expression of sudden remembrance on his face.

"Yes, that's right," he said, "One of Julia's supporters paid some local whacko to take out a hit on you. I can tell you now; it was not a popular decision. Most of us had found out by now what had happened and thought that if a fourteen year old could beat Scorpia, then you deserved to be left alone."

Alex smiled humorlessly.

"Thanks," he muttered, before continuing on with the story, "But yeah, after that I was in hospital for a bit. When I came home, someone had been in my house. They'd left me a phone with a note saying to call them if I desperately needed it. Not long after, I got into some trouble with a couple of kids from my school; one of them ended up dead and I called the number."

Chris smiled slightly.

"Ah," he said, "It was Yassen. He came and got you then."

Alex shrugged awkwardly.

"Yeah, so that's how I ended up with Yassen, minus a few details."

Chris nodded, more to himself.

"Right," he said, "Next question. I know about your past, about what you did with MI6. I also know that after your latest mission, with the Snakehead, you were sent to a therapist."

Alex squirmed, things were getting uncomfortable now.

"That's not a question." He muttered.

Chris shot Alex a sharp glance.

"I know that. I was going to ask what main issues were addressed between you and your therapist and whether they were resolved? I need to get an idea of what I need to tell our onsite psychologist."

Alex made a face.

"Nothing?" he suggested hopefully, "Maybe I won't need to see the psychologist?"

Chris laughed.

"Oh no," he chuckled, "I think we both know that's not going to happen."

* * *

Grumpy, tired and running on a short fuse, Alex all but stormed out of Chris' office shortly afterwards. He walked in the direction that Chris had described as leading to the medical clinic.

As he walked down an indoor stairwell, two men appeared, coming up the stairs whilst he was walking down. They stopped when they saw him. Instincts sparking into life, Alex surveyed them uneasily.

The first was Asian; Alex thought he was probably Japanese. He was not particularly tall, but very well built without being overly bulky. The other was a huge brick of a man, dark skinned and with a shaven head. The Japanese man looked at Alex with an ugly expression before nodding almost imperceptibly at the other man.

The other man (Alex decided for now to just call him 'walking brick'), moved so he was blocking the narrow stairwell and faced Alex squarely.

"Who are you?" he demanded in a rather thick African accent, "Are you somebody's lost brat?"

Alex shrugged and tried to keep his head down. He was painfully aware how he was alone with these men and that he would be in no state to escape if the need arose.

As aware of the possibility of danger as he was, Alex was still taken completely by surprise when the African man suddenly lashed out with his arm and pinned Alex up against the wall.

Half choking, Alex squirmed frantically. He coughed hoarsely and tried to pull his arms free in vain.

"I asked you a question," the African man growled, "Do not make me ask again. What is your name?"

"Alex!"

The African man looked over his shoulder at his friend. The Japanese man nodded again and Alex was promptly dropped to the cold, cement floor.

Alex managed to push himself up to his knees as the Japanese man walked over slowly, moving like a jungle cat.

"I know who you are," The Japanese man had a quietly menacing accent, "You are that new one, the son of John Rider. Gregorovich brought you here."

Alex just heaved his aching body to its feet and said nothing. The Japanese man looked at him coldly for a moment, seemingly waiting for a response. When he got none, he lashed out in a spin kick, foot powering into Alex's stomach. Without making a noise, Alex crashed to his knees. The Japanese man leant over him, eyes utterly merciless.

"This stairwell is soundproof," he hissed maliciously, "Just you, me and my buddy Amil's fists."

Alex's temper burst into life, he pushed himself up and away from his tormentor.

"Fucking bring it then dickhead." He coughed, trying to stand tall.

The Japanese man smiled with icily glittering eyes. Amil stepped forward and despite his bravado, Alex felt a nervous stab. The African man looked like he'd crush him with a single hand. Never the less, Alex gamely adopted a combat pose and raised his fists. Amil smiled, displaying white, even teeth.

And then, there was a muted quip and Amil jumped back with a surprising grace as a bullet suddenly buried itself in the wall, not two inches from his shaven head. The Japanese man hissed something angrily and looked up the stairs.

Yassen stood on the landing above, gun aimed at the Japanese man now. There was a rigid, mask like expression on his face, but Alex thought he could see a barely restrained fury lurking in his blue eyes. The Russian took two steps down, gun trained on the Japanese man the entire time.

"Call your grunt off or next time I won't be so gracious with my aim." Yassen said in a hard voice.

The man looked angry, but said something to Amil in quick Japanese. Amil shot Alex a last, glowering stare before moving over.

Yassen, holding the gun with one hand, motioned for Alex to come to him with the other. Alex gladly obeyed, trying not to make eye contact with either of the thugs. For a split second, he thought that the Japanese man was going to lunge at him, but Yassen's grip on his gun tightened.

"I wouldn't Jun," Yassen said frostily, "Unless you like the idea of having your brain splattered all over your minion behind you."

Jun hissed out a breath from between clenched teeth and Alex hurried the last few steps. He wasn't ashamed of standing behind Yassen; he privately hoped that the Russian would act out his threat. He was sick of people targeting him.

Yassen shot Alex a quick glance full of concern before looking back at Jun and Amil. His expression emptied when he looked at the two men.

"I can't do anything to you for this time," Yassen said, "But next time, don't count on your luck."

Jun just spat out a Japanese curse before turning away with Amil and walking down the stairs.

Shaking his head in frustration, Yassen put safety back on his gun before sticking it into the waistband of his jeans. He turned to Alex.

"Are you okay?" Yassen asked, studying Alex anxiously, "Did I arrive too late?"

Alex coughed hoarsely and laughed.

"Yeah sorta."

Yassen looked unhappy.

"I was waiting for you in the clinic, but you didn't show up," the Russian said, "I saw Jun and Amil earlier on and knew when you still didn't show up I knew that they'd found you. How badly did they beat you?"

Alex was embarrassed by the attention; he just shrugged and straightened fully, ignoring his aching stomach.

"Not too badly," he lied, "Hardly anything really."

Yassen eyes Alex skeptically.

"They kicked your ass?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

* * *

Alex was quiet for a few minutes whilst they walked to the clinic. Yassen looked over his shoulder at him.

"You aren't saying much." The Russian remarked. Yassen seemed to be a master of making remarks that weren't necessarily questions in themselves, and yet still obtained an answer for what he wanted. Alex found the process a little disconcerting to be honest. Come to that, he found conversation with Yassen in general to be disconcerting.

"I was just thinking." Alex replied, brusque more out of distraction then a deliberate intent to be rude.

Yassen seemed to understand this; he was quiet for a few moments as they walked into the large clinic. He spoke in Italian quickly to a doctor who Alex thought must have been brought in from Malagosto. The doctor nodded and looked at Alex with a critical air.

"I heard you met Amil and Jun," she said in a thick accent, "I want to see the damage they've done; take your shirt off please. And don't worry about being embarrassed, I'm putting Mr. Gregorovich here through the same process."

Alex shrugged; he thought it would be a bit stupid to come through innumerous near death experiences and then be shy about taking his shirt off for a medical examination.

"What about?" Yassen asked suddenly, pulling his long sleeved grey shirt over his head.

Alex pulled his shirt off as well and neatly left it folded on a nearby work surface.

"Sorry?"

"What were you thinking about?" Yassen asked.

Alex sighed.

"I was wondering how sensible it is to pair a mentally decrepit teenager with a Russian assassin who might be tempted to slot himself at any moment."

Yassen frowned, obviously irritated.

"That's hardly a fair description of me!" he objected, "I'm depressed, not suicidal!"

Alex raised a brow quizzically and studiously ignored the nurse as she approached with a needle.

"Last time I checked, 'depressed' sort of led to 'suicidal' with you." He countered, wincing slightly as the doctor gleefully stuck the needle in him in order to take blood.

Yassen's frown turned to a scowl.

"Cheap shot."

Alex smiled wickedly in response.

"I beg to differ. Legitimate shot, continue play."

Yassen's scowl was taking on a decidedly sour expression.

"My problems are a game now?"

Alex realized he was really pushing Yassen's temper. He also realized he was very tired and as such, he had to watch his mouth as if he was drunk. The last thing he needed to do was to start another fight with Yassen.

"No," he sighed, "Sorry I said that. I'm just not thinking straight."

The doctor suddenly interrupted by clicking her tongue disapprovingly as she studied the already rising bruises on Alex's torso.

"I'll say so," she muttered, "Picking a fight with those two…"

Yassen's frown was now directed at the matronly woman. Alex was slightly interested to note that like most people, the doctor took the glare with a frightened expression. Alex seemed to be immune to Yassen's temper.

"He didn't pick a fight with them," Yassen said sharply, "_They_ picked a fight with _him_."

The doctor bit her bottom lip and shrugged.

"Whatever the case, your son here is going to be in a bit of pain for awhile."

Yassen looked frustrated now and Alex didn't blame him; everyone jumped to conclusions when it came to them.

"He is _not_…" Yassen took a moment to quell his temper. When the Russian spoke again, it was in a voice that suggested he was very close to snapping.

"He is not my son," Yassen said, "He is my trainee and he has a name. It's Alex; kindly remember that for the future."

The doctor looked annoyed at being patronized, but she was smart enough to realize that neither Yassen nor Alex were in any state to be messed with. Alex felt like he was so tired that if the doctor went any slower, he'd shove a scalpel up her nose.

Luckily, the rest if the medical examination went by quickly. She quickly attended to the dog bite Yassen had sustained from the meat packing plant, checked over Alex's quickly healing bullet wound and did everything she needed to do for the rest of the pair's medical problems. Afterwards, she waited for Alex and Yassen to put their shirts on again before fixing them with stern looks.

"Look, I know your jobs are very demanding," she begun, "But this goes beyond that. Both of you are in a pathetic state, very run down and not even close to safe operation standards. I'm ordering both of you to spend at least a week recovering and god help you if you disobey me."

"I don't recall God ever showing an interest in me before," Yassen muttered, "So I think I'll heed that warning."

The doctor zeroed in on the Russian.

"As for you!" She exclaimed angrily, crossing broad arms across her chest, "If I hear anything about you so much as looking at any sort of drug again, I will crucify you using surgical tools! I've had a hard enough career here keeping you alive without you taunting death!"

Looking faintly amused by the 'crucify you with surgical tools' remark, Yassen raised a brow.

"Isn't the phrase 'taunting death' a slight exaggeration?"

The doctor was similar to an angry bird now in the manner she squawked and through her hands up in the air.

"No!" she shrieked, "And you should know that! Do I have to remind you of the state we found you in after your little overdosing incident?! Do I have to remind you about how you thought it might be a bright idea to slit your wrists because you were high to kingdom come on everything illegal substance you could get your hands on?! Do I have to-"

"Enough!" Yassen snapped suddenly, "Shut _up_ for a minute!"

The doctor paused uncertainly. Her confusion vanished when she saw Alex sprawled on the ground.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, before rushing over.

Yassen beat her to it; he managed to prop Alex up into sitting. He took Alex's pulse.

"I think he's just passed out from exhaustion," the Russian said, managing to disguise his concern, "And to be honest, I'm not far behind him. So I think we'll both be leaving you now Theresa."

Theresa pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"I'll tell the psychologist you two won't make it today."

Yassen gave her a vague nod before turning back to Alex. He shook the boy gently by the shoulder.

Alex moaned and opened his eyes blearily.

"Ow."

Yassen couldn't help but smile.

"Yes Alex, it generally does hurt when you pass out without the benefit of something soft underneath you."

Alex was falling asleep again.

"Uh-huh…"

Yassen sighed and shook Alex again. Alex didn't look so forgiving this time.

"What?" He whined, looking annoyed.

"You can't sleep on a cement floor in the middle of the clinic," Yassen explained patiently, "We have an apartment with proper beds. I need you to stay awake long enough to walk there. Unless you'd prefer me to carry you through the training grounds for everyone to see?"

Alex's eyes shot open and he clumsily jumped to his feet.

"Don't you dare!" he growled, "Or I'll find the biggest, nastiest scorpion in this whole fucking desert and put it in your bed!"

Yassen smiled.

"So you're walking then?"

Alex yawned widely before shaking himself awake.

"Damn right I am."

* * *

Alex was utterly disoriented when he woke eight hours later. He was sprawled face down on a large and very comfortable bed with no clue how he'd got there. Blinking and yawning sleepily, he sat up slowly and looked around, trying to remember how in god's name he managed to make it here given his exhaustion earlier on. A neat, pleasant and nondescript room furnished in blues and light colored floorboards greeted him. There was a widescreen plasma TV, an expensive stereo system and a Playstation 3, but Alex didn't care. The jersey was all he could see.

There, sitting on the mahogany desk was a genuine Chelsea player's jersey, complete with the signature of John Terry. Barely able to believe his eyes, Alex scrambled over to the desk. He noticed there was a white, unmarked envelope placed on top of the jersey. Curious, Alex opened it and read the note inside.

_I was tempted to send you a Liverpool jersey as a joke, but I thought that maybe this was a better idea. When you're old enough to drive, I'll send you a Ferrari along with some vodka. Don't tell Yassen though, he'd shoot me._

_Vladimir_

Alex grinned and put the note back in the envelope before walking out of his room and into the large and airy kitchen combined living room. Yassen looked up from where he was morosely studying a plate of buttered toast.

"Morning." Alex cheerfully greeted the Russian before helping himself to a bottle of coca-cola in the refrigerator.

Yassen scowled at him.

"Don't drink that!" He told Alex, "It's nine in the morning!"

Alex grinned and took another deliberate swill of the coke.

"Your point being?" He asked cheekily.

Yassen pushed his plate of toast away and glared at Alex with an unexpected ferocity.

"It is too early to be drinking crap like that," he snapped, "Put it back!"

Alex frowned and did as he was told.

"What's your problem?" He demanded, feeling a little hurt by the Russian's behavior.

Yassen sighed and rubbed his face wearily.

"My problem, Alex, is that I got exactly an hour's sleep when I needed a hell of a lot more and my arm is killing me where that stupid dog bit me."

Alex felt a stab of sympathy for Yassen.

"Why'd you only sleep for an hour?"

Yassen shrugged.

"I was always somewhat of an insomniac. Cocaine use only made that worse. It also messed up my appetite which is why I'm looking at my toast like it might bite me."

Alex studied the toast in question. It looked fine to him.

"So you're not going to eat it?"

Yassen rolled his eyes.

"No, help yourself. You still can't have the coke though. If I'm going to be taking care of you, I'm going to do it properly. Besides, I'm broke and therefore can not pay for braces or any other dental work."

Alex frowned through a mouthful of toast.

"Woun't Scorpa pay for shtuff like dat?"

Yassen shot Alex a mildly disgusted look.

"Pardon?"

Alex motioned for the Russian to wait a moment whilst he washed the mouthful of toast down with a nearby glass of orange juice.

"I said, wouldn't Scorpia pay for stuff like that?" Alex repeated, having managed to swallow what was effectively half a loaf of bread.

Yassen shook his head and stood, taking the now empty plate from Alex. He put it in the sink and turned the hot water on.

"Not necessarily," he replied, "They only pay for things like assignment injuries and illnesses that can't be helped. So if you need dental work done because you took poor care of your teeth, you'll have to pay yourself."

"Oh." Alex thought about that for a moment. Then, he remembered the jersey in his room.

"Vladimir gave me a Chelsea jersey," he said, "Brand new."

Yassen laughed.

"He's showing off, to prove he's as powerful as he says. Vladimir sent me a gift too, but mine was not as valuable I fear."

Alex raised a brow.

"What'd he give you?"

Yassen looked disgruntled now.

"A book on anger management."

Yassen was irritated to see that Alex found that highly amusing.

* * *

**sigh I wasn't happy with it, but I knew I really needed to update...**

**And just in case you're wondering, Zarina and Yassen are NOT going to be getting together or anything like that LOL You'll be finding out in the next chapter that Zarina is not your stereotypical Scorpia female... In fact, given what women are usually like in these stories, she's not stereotypical at all :P**

**1) Do you guys like Chris Drummond? He's going to be a fairly frequently occuring character, so I hope you do...**

**2)What song does this story remind you of? And this chapter?**

**3)Should Amil and Jun be out for revenge against Alex, or should they just be a casual annoyance?**

**4) Both Alex and Yassen are going to be forced into therapy. Considering Yassen is Alex's impromptu guadrian now, should the therapy sessions be individual, or paired?**


	10. Chapter Ten, Mistakes

**This chapter really made me sad for some reason :( **

**However, it is a good stage-setter for things to come... **

**Oh yeah, this chappie is pretty long too, just so I've warned you...**

**P.S: A long delayed message to Yotakehisuo174...Yes I'm interested in your story, PM me with the details!! Sorry I didn't reply before now, but your profile doesn't have the ability for me to PM you!!**

* * *

**Chapter Ten, Mistakes**

In the time that it took Alex to get himself back under control, Yassen had made himself a cup of coffee and found the latest issue of Guns and Ammo on a nearby kitchen counter and was seriously considering the Chinese QSZ-92 pistol. The only problem being that he was still slightly broke.

"Are you finished laughing at my expense?" Yassen asked in a bored tone, flicking to the next page of his magazine. An advertisement for army surplus…At discounted prices. Yassen vaguely wondered exactly how competitive the army surplus market was.

Alex was still grinning (he looked slightly maniacal for it), but he nodded anyway.

"Yes," he replied, "Sorry about that."

In all actuality, he didn't sound very repentant.

Yassen just took a rather vigorous sip of his coffee in response.

Seeing that the Russian was not interested in conversation, Alex decided to take a much needed shower. He quickly returned to his room and found, much to his satisfaction, a choice of replacement clothing in a chest of drawers. He chose a sand coloured T-shirt, desert camouflage pants and a pair of correctly sized combat boots before laying it all out on his bed and walking into his room's ensuite.

The ensuite was like the bedroom itself: clean, neat and spacious but rather Spartan. The walls and floor was a dark tile and the sink had two drawers underneath. There was a large mirror bolted on the wall as well, which Alex noted vaguely. Whilst he wasn't completely obsessed with his appearance, he was given to a slight streak of vanity. He turned to the shower. It was the only exorbitant part of the room, with powerful jets and a built-in bench.

Alex happily turned the water on as hot as it would go and climbed in after peeling off his clothing. He enjoyed the sensation of the water hitting him; the apartment's air conditioning was set too cold and the hot water and steam was a welcome relief. He sat under the jets on the bench for a long time.

Eventually, Alex felt energetic enough to turn the water off and walk back into his room to change into the outfit he'd left on his bed. The clothing was a little big due to the fact Alex was small for his age, but it was clean and that was the important thing. Feeling 110 better, Alex walked back out to see what Yassen was doing.

It seemed the Russian had showered as well, if his wet hair was anything to go by. He was wearing an outfit similar to Alex's, but his shirt was long sleeved with what looked a little like a Swat vest only thinner and lighter over it. Yassen also had his gun in its holster. Alex noted he still used the Grach. Maybe it was just what the Russian was comfortable with.

"How come our outfit is different to mine?" Alex asked curiously, having figured out the clothing he was wearing was a uniform of sorts.

"I think this is Scorpia's way of saying I'm going to be your mentor," the Russian said darkly, "This is an instructor's outfit."

Alex inwardly groaned. Having Yassen as his instructor would be hell; the Russian would push him to be the best trainee in the whole camp if Alex knew Yassen. He was already imagining the soul crushing, brutal training ahead of him. He figured Yassen would take making Alex into the best operative that ever breathed (and possibly died) as a sort of personal challenge.

Yassen read Alex's expression effortlessly. He looked torn between annoyance and amusement.

"I know how you feel," he said, "But the fact is the camp is very full at the moment and all the instructors are teaching crowded classes. I think Chris thinks that since I'm more or less your guardian now, we should train to work as a two person unit. It's not dissimilar to how I trained with your Father."

Slightly buoyed by that thought, Alex figured now was the time to ask a few questions.

"So does that mean my training program will be different to everyone else's?"

Yassen nodded.

"Most people are here for basic training until Scorpia chooses a specific area for them to specialize in. Your Father specialized in field work instruction."

"And let me guess, you specialized in assassination?" Alex asked dryly.

"Actually no," Yassen replied calmly, "There's no area or course by that name. Usually, you specialize in several areas that help you excel in whatever line of business Scorpia need you in. I specialized in ninjutsu, basic psychological warfare, conventional warfare and terrorist technique. I received top marks in all of them."

"Show-off," Alex muttered before sighing. "What will I be studying then?"

Yassen considered the question for a moment.

"It depends a little on what Chris wants, but I think that to start off with, I'll teach you the basics to all the areas I specialized in. I'll also teach you technology and Russian."

Alex scowled, he wasn't hugely into computers (especially not after the whole Stormbreaker affair) and whilst he'd picked up Spanish and French easily enough, he wasn't entirely sure about learning Russian.

"I don't know about Russian," Alex complained, "It's a whole different alphabet!"

Yassen's smile was not so much sympathetic as amused at Alex's distress.

"It's not that hard really," he replied, "And besides, I'll just refuse to speak to you in anything other then Russian."

Alex brightened.

"Not having to speak to you doesn't sound so bad."

Yassen's expression had an almost cruel edge now.

"Part of training you in ninjutsu includes teaching you about poisons. So, as an exercise, I may poison your meals and only give your lesson on how to neutralize the toxins in Russian. If you don't speak it, I think you'll go hungry. I'll also tell everyone not to feed you behind my back."

"Bastard." Alex growled.

"Yes," Yassen agreed in a tone that was slightly smug, "Exactly."

Alex gave up, it was too irritating and exasperating to try and win an argument against Yassen.

"Alright, Russian and technology as extras," Alex sighed, "Anything else?"

Yassen shrugged.

"Not for now. Once I have an idea what you have a talent for, I can change your lessons accordingly. I'd give my professional opinion that you'll be naturally skilled with psychological warfare and terrorist technique."

Alex was surprised by that surmise.

"Why do you say that?" He asked, "Especially considering I'm not exactly stable myself, psychologically speaking."

"That's actually my point," Yassen replied, walking around behind the kitchen counter. He searched in a drawer and produced a plastic bottle that seemed to contain the same painkillers he'd taken in the car in London. "Your experience actually gives you an insider's knowledge to how to get in people's head and inflict substantial damage."

Alex suddenly thought of the way Julia Rothman had played him like a puppet.

"Yes," He said quietly, "Scorpia are good at that, aren't they?"

Yassen shot him a sharp look, swallowing two pills.

"Alex, you made the choice here," he said warningly, "It's not reversible."

Alex nodded and held up his hands in a gesture of calm.

"I know that," he said with equilibrium, "And I don't regret it. I do however have bad memories to work through."

"I understand that far too well for my liking," Yassen said grimly, "Which is most likely why both of us are being subjected to therapy."

Alex raised a brow.

"Subjected?" He repeated dubiously, "That's not quite the right way to look at it surely? It's meant to help."

Yassen laughed shortly and shook his head in motion that seemed very bitter and very cold.

"Not to me," he replied acrimoniously, "Not after my life. My thoughts are the only real thing I possess, the only definite haven or safe house I have left. I'm not going to let any therapist or two-bit recruit sporting some pathetic degree in psychology destroy that just so they can claim they successfully deal with a 'difficult patient'."

Alex bit his bottom lip, sensing this was something that Yassen had made a near irremediable resolution about. He also thought that the Russian's complete and utter indisposition to accepting any incursion from the outside world into what he considered to be his 'only definite haven' might be to his own destruction.

* * *

A somewhat uneasy quiet fell between Alex and Yassen for the remainder of that day. Alex thought that perhaps he had inadvertently said something of an intrusive or offensive nature. In actual fact, Yassen was mostly enclosed in his own thoughts, paying little mind to Alex's restlessness. When he did register Alex's fretfulness from time to time, he wondered himself if he'd done something to distress Alex.

So it was that the morning slid uninterrupted, except for a brief appearance from Zarina, into early afternoon. Alex, realising that he and Yassen had said maybe ten words to one another since their morning conversation, began to worry in earnest whilst Yassen, perhaps picking up on Alex's emotions, slipped even further into the shadows of his own thoughts and memories.

* * *

_I'd thought I was doing the right thing to begin with. Alex had asked to be brought to Scorpia and that was what I had done. After Alex's encounter with Amil and Jun however…_

_I was beginning to doubt myself._

_The fact was that Vladimir was right; I had some deep buried paternal instincts that I'd only registered since being thrust into this unexpected state of affairs that resulted in my becoming Alex's impromptu guardian. _

_I don't begrudge my position; I have no difficulty with admitting I care for Alex too much for that to happen. The problem is though, I have no expertise in nurturing any existence other then my own and truth be told, I've thus far done an abysmal job of even that. So how in the name of God am I expected to know how to raise Alex properly, especially given the rather unique circumstances we're both in?! _

Yassen considered the 'unique' circumstances for awhile, somewhat amused by his understatement. Vaguely he noted Alex's troubled expression. A sneaking suspicion that he'd done something to upset the boy snuck into his train of thought.

_Zhopa…I've upset him. How, I'm not exactly certain. Perhaps what I said earlier…? I make him uncomfortable when I say things like that. I don't know how to fix the problem… I need help..._

* * *

_Yassen is trying to do the best he can for me and I keep on screwing things up. I must have accidentally said something that upset him earlier on; he's barely said anything all day. Not that that's all that unusual really. Yassen is not likely to ever be winner for 'best conversationalist'. _

_I don't have a clue though how to talk to him. I mean, the man is unstable at the nest of times and now…_

_Well, I guess there really is one way to deal with this._

* * *

"Are you pissed off at me?"

Yassen looked up from a laptop he'd found in the apartment study.

"No, why would I be?"

Alex frowned and felt a little like he was head butting a brick wall: he wasn't getting anywhere.

"You have barely said a word all afternoon."

Yassen laughed suddenly and pushed his laptop away.

"I thought there was something bothering you. I was actually sitting here trying to find something to help me deal with this whole situation better."

Alex frowned.

"What do you…?"

Yassen just laughed again and pushed the laptop over to where Alex could see the screen as well. Alex's mouth fell open when he saw what Yassen was looking at.

_**Foster Parenting help, from Beginners to the Experienced!**_

"Please tell me you're joking." Alex said weakly, trying to maintain his grip on sanity. There was an absolutely revolting picture of a handsome man hugging a dopey looking toddler beneath the headline. Alex silently resolved to punch Yassen's face in if he ever tried to do the same to him.

Yassen looked torn between sheepishness and defensiveness.

"It was the best idea I could come up with," he replied waspishly, "A little gratitude for my efforts would be nice."

Alex fought for words, still struggling to decide how best to deal with this.

"B-but…You can't seriously…_Foster Parenting help_?!"

Yassen glared at Alex and shut the laptop.

"Well, I didn't know what else to define this whole thing as. I'm sure as hell not your babysitter!"

Alex gave a strangled sort of moan before forcing himself to deal with the problem at hand.

"You know, it might have saved you some time and effort if you'd just _asked_ me what was wrong!"

Yassen looked a little amused now. Alex was glad _someone_ was able to take all this in a good humour.

"Firstly Alex, what makes you think I'm that smart? Secondly, this isn't just for today. I'm pretty much a foster parent now, if you use the definition rather loosely. In case you haven't noticed, I don't have the sort of personality that lends itself to such a task as child-rearing."

"Yeah but I'm not a little kid who can't take care of himself," Alex complained, "I'm able to more or less raise myself!"

"Alex, I've already told you this several times," Yassen said wearily, "Including once on the top of a London building after shooting Sayle. You _are_ still a child, no matter how mature or experienced you are. As such, you still need someone to raise you. I'm hardly an ideal choice, but that's too bad. So please just make this easy on me and nod your head."

Alex scowled.

"Fine. But I have a few demands."

Yassen stared at Alex, not sure this was leading anywhere good.

"Right?"

Alex nodded firmly.

"Yes. Number One, I drink what I like in the mornings. Even if that means coke. Secondly, you do not _ever_ try to talk to me about relationships, sex or anything along those lines."

Yassen resisted the urge to crack his own head against the kitchen counter.

"Right," He muttered, "And thirdly?"

Alex narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest.

"Thirdly, I want to call Jack."

Yassen inwardly groaned. The one thing that was difficult and Alex had zeroed in on it.

"Alex, you know that's really not possible."

Alex looked upset, but he hid it well behind an angry glare.

"You said you'd try to sort something out back in London," He snapped, "It's not fair for me to leave Jack having no clue where I am or if I'm even still alive! I just want to be able to apologise to her and tell her I'm going to be okay."

Yassen shook his head.

"Alex, I know you want to do the right thing, but I honestly don't think it'll work. You have to consider the fact how easy it would be to trace your call and the fact that Jack might have surveillance on her."

Alex's face lost its angry scowl, revealing the hurt, sad child beneath it. Yassen felt a reluctant stirring of sympathy. He knew what it was like to be all alone without your family. Was it really fair of him to impose the same misery on Alex?

"Please?" Alex begged, "If you just let me do this one thing, I'll try not to be such a pain in the ass."

Yassen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think the issue over. He didn't usually place emotions over logic in solving problems, but in this case there wasn't a lot of choice.

"Alright," He said eventually, "We can go ask Chris."

Alex cheered visibly.

"Cool."

Yassen tried to fix Alex with a stern look.

"This is not a guarantee, alright? It's just me seeing what I can do for you. Understand me?"

Alex nodded unconcernedly.

"Yep. Now let's go."

"What, now?"

Alex nodded again.

"Of course now! What, did you think I meant next week or something?"

Yassen regarded Alex for a moment, reflecting on how very unmotivated he was to move he was right then.

"No, I guess not." The Russian muttered after a second, standing, "Let's go see Chris then."

Alex gave the first full, genuine smile Yassen had seen on the teen's face.

"Okay."

And then, as he followed Yassen out of the apartment.

"And Yassen?"

The Russian looked over at him, brows raised.

"Yes?"

"Thanks." Alex said seriously.

* * *

As preoccupied as he was with the prospect of speaking to Jack again, Alex couldn't help but be interested in his surroundings as he and Yassen walked towards Chris' office. The whole camp seemed baked hard by the desert heat; the horizon rippled in the sweltering sun. Walking through an empty courtyard, Alex looked up and noticed guards watching him and Yassen from second storey balconies. Each one was armed with what looked like an M16 Viper and a Jericho 941 handgun as a secondary weapon. They also wore headsets, swat vests and carried at least four knives each, as far as Alex could see.

Noticing Alex's interest in the guards, Yassen began to speak.

"Since you destroyed the old organisation and since the revolution, Scorpia has been taking security extremely seriously. This camp has five different units working around the clock to maintain the camp's integrity. The men you see there are the _Squadra di battimento, _or Beat Squad. They work in five man patrols or in stationary posts such as the watchtowers."

As they moved out of the courtyard and into a narrow, well lit walkway, something occurred to Alex.

"What about the other four units?"

Yassen smiled, approving of Alex's curiosity.

"There's the _Unità canina_. They're our equivalent for the American K9 police squads. A word of advice, don't ever go near them if you can help it; the dogs are trained to be as vicious and lethal as possible, there have been…accidents before."

As if to compliment Yassen's narration, they passed an open archway leading out into a large penned in area. Inside the razor wire and chain-link fences, Alex could see several men wearing bulky protective armour leading three enormous and nasty looking dogs through what he supposed was the canine equivalent of an assault course.

"What are they?" Alex asked, secretly intimidated by the animals, "Mastiffs?"

Yassen shook his head in amusement.

"No. They're a cross-breed; Australian Bandog and Rottweiler. I think most of Scorpia just call them 'Butcher Dogs'."

"Why cross-breed them?" Alex asked, "Wouldn't one or the other be enough?"

Yassen shrugged.

"You'd think so. I think originally they just used the Australian Bandogs, but they were too slow, so they bred them with Rottweilers to make them faster. My point is however, don't ever provoke them; there isn't a handler alive that can stop a Butcher Dog from ripping your throat out if that's what it wants to do. I wouldn't worry about being bitten too much though, I'll show you where the dogs patrol and you'll know to stay away from there."

Alex swallowed and took one last look at the snarling animals before following Yassen again.

"What about the other guard units?"

"The rest are fairly straight forward. There's the _Disperso nell'aria_, or Airborne. They patrol the camp and surrounding desert by helicopter. Then there's the _Guardie del corpo_, who serve to act security for Executive Board members or for special projects. Lastly, there's the _Elitisti_, who are the camp's Special Forces."

"And do people train to join one of these units?" Alex asked, slowly recognising parts of the building they were in now. He figured they were close to Chris' office.

"Yes, but people training for acceptance into Camp Security study completely different units to you Alex." Yassen explained before stopping in front of what Alex recognised as the door to Chris' office. The Russian knocked on the wood door (Alex figured Yassen must really respect Chris if he was bothering with knocking) and led the way in.

Chris looked up from a pile of paperwork he'd been reading.

"I thought you'd been given time off?"

Yassen shrugged.

"This isn't business or training. Alex has a request."

Chris raised his dark brows and looked at Alex questioningly.

"Yes?"

"Um, I want to call Jack." Alex told the man, "Yassen said he'd ask you if it was okay."

Chris's expression was unreadable as he pushed the paperwork away and considered the question.

"Jack is your guardian back in London, correct? American girl who took over your upbringing after your Uncle died?"

Alex shot a look at Yassen.

"'Died' is a rather kind term for what happened, don't you think? I'd actually define it as 'assassinated'."

Chris waved the question away.

"You know what I mean. So that is who you are speaking of, right?"

Alex sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, that's Jack. I just want to call her and tell her that I'm okay. She's like an older sister almost; it's not fair of me to make her worry."

Chris tapped a pencil in his hand against his desk thoughtfully.

"I see…" He said slowly before seemingly making a decision. "Look, I need to talk to Yassen. Would you mind waiting outside for a minute?"

A little confused, Alex frowned.

"Why?"

Yassen exchanged a glance with Chris. Alex didn't like the unease he saw in both men's eyes.

"It's alright Alex, just do what Chris says."

Still wary, Alex looked over his shoulder at Chris as he left the office. The Australian man's face betrayed nothing.

* * *

Waiting until his office doors shut behind Alex, Chris turned to Yassen.

"I can't believe you promised him this."

Yassen frowned, annoyed by the other man's assumption.

"I didn't promise him anything; I just said I'd ask you and that I couldn't guarantee anything."

Chris sighed and shook his head in frustration.

"Still, you gave him a false hope."

"So you're not going to let him make the call?" Yassen asked. His tone was level, indicating no feelings either way. The Russian would ideally like Alex to get what he wanted, but he knew that that might not be possible, if it put the organization at too much risk.

"I don't know," Chris admitted, "I think it's a bad idea."

"I told Alex the same, more or less," Yassen said, "I told him it would be easy for the call to be traced. I'm sure MI6 already know about the camp being here, but there's no need to give them Alex's location as well."

Chris shook his head again.

"When I said I think it's a bad idea, I wasn't speaking in terms of security. We can destroy the phone after he uses it and I'm sure that MI6 would figure out his location fairly soon anyway. I was thinking of Alex himself when I said it was a bad idea. I think it would be bad for him to talk to Jack."

Listening closely from the other side of the office doors, Alex felt a stab of panic. Why did Chris think it would be a bad idea for him to talk to Jack? Did that mean he wasn't going to be allowed to do so? Biting his bottom lip, Alex went back to listening.

"I understand that," Yassen admitted, "But perhaps it might also be a good experience for him? It might serve as closure for him, make things easier for him."

Chris grunted, not totally convinced.

"Perhaps, and then again, perhaps not. Let Alex back in, I'll talk to him again before I decide on this."

* * *

Alex barely had time to leap away from the office doors before Yassen opened them. The look the Russian gave him suggested that he knew Alex had been eavesdropping. Either way, Yassen said nothing, just motioned for Alex to come back in.

Alex tried not to look worried or desperate as he regarded Chris Drummond across his desk. He had a good idea of what he was going to say to the man; he just worried how well his words would go down with the powerful man.

"Look Alex," Chris said wearily, diving right in, "I really don't think it would be a wise decision to let you talk to Jack. Please understand, I'm not trying to be an asshole here, I am actually thinking of you. You probably don't get it right now, but I think calling your old guardian would do you more harm then good."

"So that's a no then?" Alex asked quietly, briefly looking at Yassen. The Russian looked unhappy. Whether that was because of Chris' decision, or because of the general situation, Alex wasn't sure.

Chris shrugged.

"I'm afraid so."

Alex took a breath and then looked the sturdy man in the eye.

"If you don't let me call Jack, I'll just find a different phone and call her anyway."

There was a long moment of silence. Alex wondered if he'd gone too far, talking to a powerful member of Scorpia in such a disrespectful manner. Yassen's expression didn't give anything away, but Alex thought the Russian was not impressed. He turned away and looked at Chris. The Australian looked thoughtful rather then furious. Alex thought that was a good sign.

"I could tell the _Squadra di battimento _that you're not allowed near any phones. I could even tell them to use any non-lethal means necessary to prevent you from making any calls," Chris said warningly, "That could involve a great deal of pain for you."

Alex scowled and folded his arms across his chest.

"I'd still try, no matter the costs."

Chris looked at him closely for another long moment before relaxing and leaning back in his chair.

"I still think that this a very bad idea," He said slowly, "But I can see you're determined. I'd rather not come to conflict over this. You can make the call."

Alex tried to remain calm, but a small smile slipped onto his face.

"Thankyou."

Chris just grunted and reaching into one of the drawers in his desk, passed Alex a LG Black Label 'Shine' Mobile Phone.

"Here," He said, "You can use my phone."

Alex took the phone slowly, knowing just from looking at the machine, that it would have cost Chris a lot.

"I thought the phone I used was going to be destroyed after I made the call?" He said, "You're willing to have your personal phone be wrecked?"

Chris grinned.

"I have several. This is the cheapest phone I own. You can make your call."

* * *

It took Alex awhile to dial in all the necessary codes to access an international number, outside of the Scorpia network. Eventually however, he heard the single beep that Chris had said would mean he was connected with his home number. Nervous suddenly, Alex waited.

After ringing for a few moments, the line engaged.

"Hello?" Jack sounded miserable from the first syllable.

Alex's words caught in his throat for a moment, he couldn't say anything.

"Hello?" Jack said again, sounding confused now "Is anyone there?"

Shaking himself, Alex breathed out and spoke.

"Hello, Jack? It's Alex."

"A-Alex?!" Jack sounded stunned, "Oh my God! Where are you? Are you alright?"

Alex suddenly felt very miserable and lonely. He'd thought that calling Jack was something he'd calmly do and then return to whatever it was he was doing beforehand. Not that he could actually hear Jack's voice however, Alex knew Chris was right: this had been a mistake. He should never have called; he was only hurting Jack and himself.

"I'm fine," Alex managed, trying not to sound as depressed as he felt, "But I can't tell you where I am."

There was a long pause.

"You aren't coming home?" Jack asked in a small, sad voice.

"No Jack, I can't. MI6 aren't very happy with me," Alex said, "I'm not in England."

"Oh no, you're with those people again!" Jack cried, "Scorpia!"

"Um, sort of," Alex was sure he could feel his heart breaking in response to Jack's fear and sadness, "Well, yes, but it's not like last time. I'm with someone I can trust now."

"Like Ash?" Jack demanded, "You thought you could trust Ash and he was family!"

"No Jack, I really can trust who I'm with this time," Alex tried to reason with Jack, "He's the one who saved me from being shot to death in the shop. I'm with him. He's saved me from being arrested and also from being shot again too."

If Alex had thought these details would calm Jack, he was very much mistaken.

"What?" She gasped, "Oh my God Alex! What's going on?! I thought you said you were safe! Who are these people you're with?!"

Alex tried to explain, but Jack was well and truly hysterical by now. All Alex could do was sit there, trying to reason with her. He realized after a moment that he was crying.

"…I just want you to come home Alex!" Jack was crying too, "Why can't you come home?"

"I…I just can't," Alex said miserably, "I'm sorry Jack."

"Alex?" Yassen said softly, "Can I talk to Jack please?"

Startled, Alex looked between the Russian and the phone for a second before nodding slowly.

"Okay, let me just tell Jack."

Yassen nodded, content to wait. Taking a shuddering breath in, Alex put the phone back to his ear.

"Um, Jack?"

Jack must have sensed something in his tone, because she stopped what she was saying and listened wordlessly.

"You know how I said I was with someone trustworthy? Well, he wants to talk to you."

"O-okay," Jack sounded a little frightened now, "You can put him on."

"And Jack, please don't…Well, just know that you're not going to be happy with this man, but just remember, I trust him."

"Alex, you're frightening me."

"Sorry, I seem to do that a lot." Alex said before handing the phone to Yassen.

"I'll wait outside again." He told the Russian.

* * *

"Jack Starbright?" Yassen hoped he'd remembered her last name correctly.

"Um, just Jack. Who is this?" Jack still sounded scared, but Yassen could still hear the strength underneath.

Yassen hesitated. This was the hard part. He didn't really care whether or not Jack actually liked him, but he didn't want to upset her too badly for Alex's sake.

"My name's Yassen Gregorovich," He said slowly, "I'm taking care of Alex."

There was a long moment where Yassen could hear Jack's strangled sounding breathing on the other end of the line.

"Y-you're the one killed Ian," Jack said in an eerie, flat voice, "I thought you were dead. Alex told me you were."

"Well, Alex wasn't to know that I was, in actual fact, still alive," Yassen said warily, wondering if Jack was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, "He only found out about my continued existence very recently, on the day he disappeared."

"A-and you have Alex with you now." It was a statement, not a question. "Are you going to hurt him?"

"No, that's the last thing I want to do." Yassen said calmly. He genuinely felt bad for this woman; he could sense her love for Alex behind her words. He knew that he must frighten her. He thought she must be very brave to be able to talk to him so levelly.

"Then why can't you let him come home?" Jack demanded.

"That's not my decision to make," Yassen explained, "You see, MI6 know Alex is with me. They now want both of us dead."

Yassen heard Jack's sharp intake of air and gave her a moment to collect herself.

"But he's safe as long as he's with you?" Jack had managed to bring herself back under control, "Right?"

"I'm doing my best to take care of him," Yassen told her. He hoped that being truthful with Jack was the right approach to take, "I can't guarantee anything however."

"Please," Jack said, "That's not enough. Can you please promise me you won't let anyone hurt him? I don't trust you and I certainly don't like you, but I can tell Alex does. So, I'm asking you to promise me on that basis that you won't let anyone hurt Alex and that you'll keep him safe."

Yassen hesitated. He knew that refusing Jack would upset her, and he knew that it would upset Alex as well if he was to hear of it. On the other hand, Jack's promise wasn't one he could be guaranteed to keep. He wanted to do the right thing by Jack, but this was something that he knew he had to take seriously.

"Mr. Gregorovich? Jack said, "I know that considering what's going on right now, I'm asking you to make a very difficult promise. However, I think if anyone can keep it, it's you."

Yassen winced at the desperation in Jack's voice. In the back of his head, a small voice was screaming at him to say no, that he couldn't keep her promise, but Yassen ignored it. With a sigh, he gave in.

"Alright, I'll do that," he said, "I promise I'll keep Alex safe for you."

"Thankyou," Jack said quietly, "Now I'll go. I won't say goodbye to Alex, I think that it might do more harm then good."

Then, Jack hung up. Slowly, Yassen removed the phone from his ear and hung up. He looked over at Chris.

"We should have told Alex no," He said, eyes boring into the Australian, "We should never have let him make the call."

Chris nodded sombrely.

"I thought as much. I only allowed him to call Jack because I thought there was a slight chance that it would bring closure, as you said. I see now I was wrong."

Yassen sighed and passed the phone back to the Australian.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now." He admitted, looking very tired.

Chris sighed.

"My advice? Distract Alex. It's not really effective long-term, but you can at least keep him from thinking about Jack too much until you two are ready to go see the psychologist. Which, by the way, I suggest you do very soon.

Yassen laughed humourlessly.

"Distract Alex from thinking about the closest thing he has to family. No problem."

Chris shrugged.

"It works short-term. I have a teenage daughter; I used that tactic on her when her Mother died. She loves horses, so I bought her one. Find out what Alex likes and try to use it to make him happy."

Yassen couldn't help but frown.

"It seems wrong, to try and sidetrack Alex from someone who he loves."

"I know," Chris admitted, "But you have to. Otherwise Alex is bound to become even more depressed then what he is already and I think you agree with me that given his current state that would be dangerous."

* * *

After giving the phone to Yassen, Alex had left Chris' office. Feeling restless, Alex had decided against waiting outside. He didn't really want to be able to hear what Yassen said to Jack anyway. He was miserable enough as it was.

So Alex decided to try and find something to keep himself occupied with until Yassen was finished talking to Jack. Walking down the hallway, Alex eventually found an exit. Curious, he followed it outside to a square, flat patch of ground. Goals had been placed at each end and there was a group of about six (four men and two women) playing football.

Alex watched for awhile, noting that whilst they weren't especially skilled, all of the players were very fast and obviously had a great deal of endurance. Eventually, one of the women managed to kick a goal that went in over the keeper's head. Her team cheered triumphantly whilst the others swore cheerfully. The woman herself made no sound and then Alex recognised her. It was Zarina, with her hair tied back and without the sunglasses.

Turning around, she recognised him. With a smile, she waved one of the men over. The man shouted to the rest of the people that they'd be back in a minute. Together, the two of them walked over.

"Hi Zarina." Alex said, trying to sound cheerful.

Zarina seemed to realise something was amiss however, because, using sign language, she said something quickly to her friend. He nodded, said something in Arabic to her and turned to Alex.

"I'm Walid," He said by way of introduction, "I'm here to 'translate' for Zarina. You don't know sign language, do you?"

Alex shook his head mutely. Walid nodded to himself.

"Well, that's why I'm here. Zarina wants to know if you're alright."

Alex gave a lopsided smile and looked at Zarina. He didn't have any problem with Walid having to speak for her. It didn't affect conversation really; she was mute not deaf.

"Not exactly, but don't worry. I just made a mistake and ended up hurting the woman who was my guardian in London. Yassen's talking to her now."

Alex waited whilst Zarina signed to Walid.

"Do you worry about what Yassen would say to her?"

Alex shrugged.

"A little I suppose. It's not that I think he'd be cruel or anything, I just don't know if he'd say the right thing for Jack."

"I know it's hard to believe, but Yassen can actually be very sensitive. He'll say the right thing."

Alex gave a small smile of gratitude.

"Thanks Zarina. You can go back to playing football if you want, I didn't mean to interrupt."

Zarina smiled brightly and shook her head. Walid smiled as well.

"It's alright, we were winning anyway."

Alex opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted.

"There you are Alex." Yassen was obviously finished in Chris' office; he walked out from the building, looking concerned. "I wondered where you'd gone."

Alex didn't look up from his feet.

"Well, you found me."

Yassen paused, looking at Alex with concern flickering in his blue eyes. Zarina, noticing it, signed something to Walid. The Tunisian man nodded and walked over to Alex.

"Why don't you come play football with us for a few minutes? I think Zarina and Yassen need to speak."

Alex nodded and followed Walid back to the game. Watching him go, Yassen shook his head.

"He worries me." Yassen said quietly. Zarina nodded sympathetically and Yassen watched carefully as she signed to him. He was fairly proficient in reading sign language, but he had to concentrate to understand the entire message.

"_You're doing your best though."_

Yassen still looked unhappy though. He shook his head slightly.

"What if that's not enough though?" He asked, "What if I can't do the right thing?"

"_You shouldn't think like that; you'll do fine if you believe in yourself. I know that you're capable of doing what needs to be done."_

"I really hope so." Yassen said, watching Alex. He was interested to see the way he joined the football game easily and how his conversation with Jack hadn't affected his playing abilities. Yassen thought of Chris' advice and thought that maybe he had something to distract Alex with. Not perturbed by the silence that had fallen between them, Zarina watched Alex as well for awhile.

"_How have you been?"_ She asked, watching him closely.

Yassen smiled.

"I should be the one asking you that. But since I didn't…I'm alright I guess. Withdrawal is kicking in."

"_How's that for you? Besides the obvious…"_

Yassen shrugged morosely.

"It worries me actually. It's only been a few days, but already I feel like I'm going insane. I still can't sleep, I have no appetite and I'm pretty depressed. I swear, between worrying about Alex and giving up cocaine, I'm going to die an early death from stress."

Zarina looked sad.

"_Don't say that. I'd be miserable without you. Who else would I go to for unnecessary grovelling and apologies?"_

Yassen laughed humourlessly.

"See, now you're being too kind. I still owe you a lot for forgiving me after North Korea."

"_Oh for Fuck's…Look, this is the last time I'll say this: Yes you messed up in North Korea, yes you were selfish and yes you didn't think. However, I forgive you. If you can't accept that, then perhaps we should not be friends."_

Yassen grinned.

"That's very unladylike language, even for you."

Zarina narrowed her eyes.

"_And what exactly is __**that**__ meant to mean?" _

Yassen raised his brows.

"Nothing whatsoever," he said cheerfully, "Now I'm going to get Alex."

* * *

Miserable as he was, Alex was more then happy to lose himself in the football. As Zarina was busy talking to Yassen, he took her place as striker. The position suited him well as his small size and fast feet made him hard for opposing players to keep track of. Within five minutes of joining the game, Alex had scored one goal for his team and was close to taking another when he was slide-tackled by an opposing defence player.

Unable to steady himself in time, Alex tumbled roughly to the hard-packed ground, taking the goalie with him. He gave a shocked yell that was quickly cut off when the goalie accidentally kneed him in the stomach. Coughing and spitting out dirt, Alex weakly crawled away a few steps before managing to sit up.

"Hey, you okay?" The player who'd taken him down in the first place was standing over him, looking half repentant, half amused, "Do you need a hand?"

Alex just shook his head, rubbing his stomach. As luck would have it, he'd been kneed in the exact same place that Jun had kicked him in. The player leaning over him crouched down beside him suddenly.

"No offence kid, but that's from Jun. He paid me to do it." He whispered before walking off, laughing something in Spanish.

Still winded, Alex wasn't able to mutter the curses that came to mind. Instead, he was reduced to kneeling bent over, holding his stomach. Presently, he heard footsteps running over in his direction. Wheezing, Alex straightened up and saw Yassen leaning over him.

"What happened?" The Russian asked, "Honestly, I leave you alone for two minutes…"

Alex smiled humourlessly.

"What do you think happened?" He asked testily, "I tripped."

Perhaps something was wrong in Alex's voice because suspicion flickered in Yassen's eyes. The Russian looked over his shoulder where play had resumed. The player who'd knocked Alex over didn't look away from the ball he was running towards the goal. Shaking his head and muttering in exasperated sounding Russian, Yassen sighed and turned back to Alex, offering his hand.

Taking it, Alex hauled himself up to his feet. He gave a half-hearted cough and rubbed his stomach gingerly.

"I don't think I'll be playing football again for awhile."

For some reason, that seemed to upset Yassen a great deal.

* * *

"I know you probably won't be too happy about this, but we're going to see the psychologist tomorrow."

Alex raised a brow. He'd been in his room since returning to the apartment, playing mindless PS3 games. He'd just come out of his room looking for something to eat when Yassen had decided to drop the 'psychologist' bombshell.

"You're right," he said, "I'm not happy about it. I went to therapy with MI6, it sucked. I'd always had nightmares, but therapy made them worse. I didn't sleep for three days straight because I was too afraid of waking up screaming. In the end, Jack had to get sedatives for me."

Yassen didn't know what to say, so he changed the subject.

"I was talking to Chris."

"And?"

"He said that as wrong as it sounds, it's probably not healthy to fixate on Jack right now."

Alex's eyes darkened and Yassen saw straight away that this was not going to be a good conversation.

"Really?" Alex asked dangerously, "And what else did Chris say?"

Yassen wondered if perhaps now would be the time to shut his mouth. He figured he should try to talk to Alex though and see if there was any way that worked for both of them to try and keep things…upbeat.

"He said that you should focus on something besides Jack,"

Alex snorted and savagely ripped open the fridge.

"Whatever. Chris can shove his advice up his well informed-"

"-Alex!" Yassen said warningly, "Don't even start that."

Alex looked at Yassen sourly.

"Start what?"

"You know what," Yassen said sternly, "And watch your language too. It's unprofessional and quite frankly, annoying. It makes you sound brainless as well."

Alex snorted again and slammed the fridge door shut.

"Is there anything to eat in here?"

"Don't bother," Yassen sighed, walking around the kitchen island, "I'm going to cook dinner now."

Alex stopped and stared at Yassen.

"You can cook?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Yassen said flatly, "As well as clean and iron. Amazing isn't it? I'm a regular housewife."

Alex smothered a smile and tried to adopt a nonchalant tone.

"What are you making?" He asked.

Yassen shrugged and began looking the cupboards.

"I don't know yet. What do you want?"

Alex thought about it, and a possible peace offering occurred to him.

"If I'm going to have to learn Russian, maybe I could get to like the food? Apart from caviar, what's an example of Russian cuisine?"

Yassen smiled. He knew that Alex was trying to make peace and he appreciated the effort. Also, he happened to like the food of his homeland, it reminded him of the rapidly fading days before Estrov blew sky-high.

"I could make Pelmeny," He said carelessly, "its meat wrapped in pastry, similar to dumplings. Or maybe you'd like Fish Kchuch better?"

"The fish," Alex said decisively, "I'm still not over the whole pushing Donati into a meat shredding machine thing."

Yassen looked tempted to roll his eyes.

"As you wish. It'll take the best part of an hour to cook. What are you going to do until then?"

Alex shrugged in a non-committal manner.

"I don't know…Go back to Playstation games?"

"That sounds like such a waste of time," Yassen remarked, "Surely you can think of something more productive to do?"

Alex half scowled.

"You're taking this whole foster parent thing way too seriously," he said, "What have you got against video games?"

Yassen shook his head.

"They're pointless and there's a link between an excess of time spent playing those games and childhood obesity."

Alex grinned suddenly.

"But they also improve hand-eye coordination," he pointed out, "Which I'm going to need for training right?"

Yassen sighed.

"You know what? You're annoying me. Just put a movie on. All the DVD's are in the rack underneath the TV. You choose one."

Alex laughed shortly before flicking through the extensive range of movies. After awhile, he stopped and started laughing in earnest.

"Is this some sort of a joke?" He asked in amused disbelief. Yassen raised a brow.

"What?"

Alex held up something in his hand.

"A collector's edition of Casino Royale?" He asked, "A _James Bond_ DVD? _Here_?"

Yassen grinned suddenly.

"Put them on, I've never seen any of them."

Shaking his head, Alex laughed once more and did as he was told.

* * *

To Alex's surprise, Yassen enjoyed the movie. He'd been expecting continuous, scathing criticisms from the Russian. However, whilst he gave a few snobby remarks on the beginning sequence in Prague (Yassen said he would have come up with better lines if he had have been in 007's position), Yassen shut up and became engulfed in the movie. The only time he spoke again was to remark that Vesper was bound to be a traitor. He was immensely smug in discovering his prediction to be true.

As the movie ended, something that had been bugging Alex clicked in his head. Burning, he could smell burning. Startled, by it, he jumped to his feet and turned around to look into the kitchen. Yassen did likewise and a small expression of consternation crossed the Russian's face.

"The food," He said, "Shit."

Looking irritated, Yassen opened the oven up and pulled out what resembled a baking tray shaped person suffering third degree burns. Mildly put out, Yassen regarded the meal sourly, as if expecting the burnt mass to return the motion with an apology. After a few experiments with a kitchen knife however, Yassen gave a satisfied grunt.

"It's just the top that's burnt."

Alex, who'd fallen back into a sullen sort of quiet during the movie, slowly got up from the couch and walked over.

"I thought you said you could cook?"

Yassen shot Alex a nasty look, mildly offended.

"If you don't want it, go hungry."

Alex shrugged and found two plates in one of the kitchen cabinets. He put one down in front of Yassen and kept the other for himself.

"I never said I wouldn't eat it. I just said that I thought you could cook."

"I can cook," Yassen said waspishly, feeling slightly absurd for getting caught in such a childish argument, "When I'm not distracted by James Bloody Bond. I'd never seen one of the 007 films before, I didn't realize they were going to be so diverting."

Alex just raised a brow at the Russian's tone and helped himself to a slab of the Fish Kchuch.

* * *

Once they'd managed to serve themselves portions of the Kchuch (with the burnt pastry surface carefully picked off) and sit themselves down at the dinner table, a semi awkward silence fell. Yassen tolerated it for a few minutes before putting down his glass of 1955 Château Cheval Blanc (part of him was screaming obscenities for drinking such an expensive wine so flippantly) and fixing Alex with a keen stare.

"You're quiet." Yassen guessed a simple statement might be a better way to start a conversation then a question Alex might interpret as pressure.

Alex looked up and Yassen was surprised to see the expression on his face. Trapped and more then a little afraid. For some reason, it brought to Yassen's mind a young child hiding in a closet.

"I don't want to see the psychologist tomorrow." He said in a small voice. Between the phone call to Jack, and the prospect of seeing the psychologist, Alex's nonchalant façade seemed to have been lost in his fear and misery.

Alex's obvious distress caused something in Yassen's gut to twist uncomfortably. For an inexplicable reason, a sudden memory flickered to life.

* * *

"_I don't want to see the doctor." Yassen snapped, eyes flashing dangerously._

_Vera looked torn between annoyance and worry. She looked to her husband for help. He just looked tired. He'd been working all day, trying to do his own work as well as that of a sick colleague's and wasn't in the mood for his son's antics now._

"_Yassen, your wrist is broken and that cut over your eye needs stitching," He said wearily, "So you need to see the doctor."_

"_I don't care," Yassen said resentfully, "I'm fine."_

"_Well, talk to the police then. They can at least do something about the boys who beat you."_

_Yassen snorted derisively, exuding a lot of bitterness for a thirteen year old._

"_I doubt it."_

_Something suddenly flickered through his father's face and he stood angrily from his seat._

"_You started the fight!" He growled in realisation, "This is the third one this week!"_

_Yassen didn't say anything, choosing instead to smirk. He could have told his parents that the reason he got into so many fights was because of Sergey, the Party Official's son. Sergey had been taunting Yassen as usual, but this time, he'd crossed a line. He'd targeted Nastya, calling her a slut and a whore and spitting at her. So, Yassen had hit Sergey. In return, Sergey's older and much larger friends had joined the fight…_

* * *

Yassen shook himself angrily. He tried not to think about Estrov, about his family. He definitely hadn't thought of Nastya in a long time. In fact, this was the first time in maybe years that she'd crossed his mind. Yassen looked at Alex appraisingly, thinking that there wasn't much difference between Alex and Nastya. Both had been (and in Alex's case) still were very much victims of uncontrollable circumstances, both running from their demons.

"What?" Alex had noticed Yassen's scrutiny.

Yassen pressed his lips together grimly and shook his head.

"Nothing."

Alex watched Yassen for a few more seconds before going back to his meal. Realizing he'd effectively just screwed up, Yassen sighed.

"I'm sorry Alex," He said sadly, "I didn't mean to ignore you."

Alex shrugged and Yassen was struck by the knowing look in the boy's brown eyes.

"It's alright."

"No, really," Yassen tried again, growing angry at himself now, "I'm listening. Why don't you want to go to the psychologist? Is it the nightmares?"

Alex regarded Yassen for a long moment, as if suspecting duplicity on his part. Then, seeing the sincerity in Yassen's face, he relaxed.

"Partly," Alex admitted, "But it's mostly because…because I'm afraid of what they'll find."

As was becoming the norm, Yassen didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth to try and offer something by way of sympathy, but then shut it again and went back to eating. The truth was he knew Alex's situation all too well. There really wasn't much you could say.

* * *

**Hahaha, I bet you're all wondering who the mysterious 'Nastya' is 'ey?? Lol, you'll never in a million years guess it. However, her tormentor, Sergey is going to be reappearing sooner or later. I don't know when or in what context yet, but he will.**

**Also, the 'Butcher Dogs' are going to star in their own scene too. In fact, one of them in particular will be sticking around for awhile. If you're interested, ask me ;)**

**Sorry by the Way for the Casino Royale spoilers if you hadn't seen the movie ..'**

**Oh yeah, and a lot of the stuff in this chappie was inspired by the song 'Teardrop' by Massive Attack...**


	11. Chapter Eleven, Madness

**Hey guys, as per usual, I'm sorry about the slow update. And yeah, this chappie is sorta just crappy filler type stuff :( You might still like it though -le shrug-**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven, Madness**

Once they'd finished eating, Alex stood and made to clear the table. Yassen stood as well and frowned at him.

"You don't have to do that."

Alex shrugged, not in the mood for an argument. He kept picking up the plates and used cutlery as he spoke.

"I do it at home with Jack. You cook, I clean the dishes. Pretty simple really."

Yassen didn't lose his frown, but he could see what sort of frame of mind Alex was in.

"Alright, please yourself. I'm going to call the psychologist to tell them we'll be coming tomorrow. If you change your mind, or get bored-"

"-I'll tell you." Alex's reply was blunt and not conducive to further conversation. Shaking his head, Yassen left the teen to it, walking into his room and closing the door behind him.

* * *

Satisfied with the now silent and empty room, Alex carried all the dishes to the kitchen sink and filled it up with water. Operating purely out of habit, he mixed in the detergent so that there was a layer of foam on top of the water. He frowned slightly at it; he couldn't see the dishes now. Shrugging, he just rummaged around in the water until he found another item that needed scrubbing.

Alex carried along in this manner for a few minutes, content just to shut his mind down and focus only on the task at hand. Quite literally. Pushing even that thought aside, he reached into the sink and-

'_Fuck!'_

Alex gave a hiss from between clenched teeth. He'd grabbed a kitchen knife by the blade by mistake, unable to see through the detergent foam. As a result, the Swedish Stainless Steel blade bit deeply into the flesh of his hand. Biting into his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out, Alex hastily took his hand out of the water, pulled the knife free of his hand,

'_Jesus __**Christ**__!'_

And dropped the knife quickly. Panicking slightly at the sight of the thick flow of blood that was welling from the gash, Alex held his hand over the empty sink and looked around for something to wrap his hand in. Hanging over the handle of the oven was a tea towel. Still biting into his bottom lip (Alex could feel blood trickling from there as well now), he lunged forward to the towel. The sudden movement caused his bleeding hand to scatter bright red beads of blood everywhere.

Ripping the tea towel down, Alex wrapped his hand up the best he could. He gave a barely stifled cry at the sensation of the rough cotton chafing the wound. Shaking slightly, he stumbled to his room and into its ensuite. Blood already soaking through the towel and trailing down his wrist, Alex began ripping the bathroom cabinet apart, looking for bandages. Rummaging through nail scissors, small bandaids, combs and washcloths, he found what he was looking for.

Feeling dizzy by now (more from panic and pain then actual blood loss), Alex peeled the tea towel away from his hand. Some of the towel's fibres had become stuck to the wound and Alex couldn't help but give an agonised cry as they were ripped free. Then, trying to hold his injured hand steady, Alex began to wrap it up using his free hand and teeth.

* * *

Feeling tired suddenly, Yassen hung up on his mobile phone and placed it on his bedside table. Wearily, he leaned back against the headrest of his bed and closed his eyes. He could hear the sounds of Alex washing the dinner dishes outside in the kitchen. For a few minutes, Yassen was more then happy to sit listening to the noises of the dishes bumping against the sink.

Suddenly, everything fell silent outside. Slowly, Yassen opened his eyes again. He hadn't heard anything from Alex, but some animal instinct nagged at him, the way a hare instinctively freezes when an eagle flies overhead. Sitting up properly, Yassen listened. Still silent…And then a muffled noise, like someone trying to cover a shout a second too late. Suddenly running on adrenalin, Yassen stood quickly.

He heard what sounded like something clattering to the floor and another, less identifiable sound. There were running footsteps and Yassen heard Alex in his bathroom. Worry shooting up to mild panic, Yassen sprinted out into the kitchen.

And stopped. Whilst the kitchen wasn't covered in blood, there was enough of it for Yassen to imagine the worst. His eyes fell on the crimson coated knife on the floor. Small puddles of blood, soaking into the floor, formed a trail into Alex's room.

"Alex!" Yassen hurried to the teen's room, trying not to slip in the blood pools, "What happened?"

There was another muffled cry from Alex's bathroom.

"I'm fine!" Yassen found he was surprised to hear a response, "I just cut myself. Piss off!"

That one stopped Yassen in his tracks for a split second. His hesitation came at just the right moment for him to hear the click of Alex locking his bathroom door. Yassen's heart sank.

* * *

As Alex began to bandage his hand, a memory flickered to life, like a home video. He remembered a day, before all of this had started, when he'd cut himself by accident making dinner at home. He remembered Jack walking into the kitchen, her face as she registered Alex staring mutely at his own bleeding hand. He remembered her initially shouting, then crying, then gently putting a bandaid over the cut. Suddenly, a million other memories came crashing down on him.

_Jack cooking meal after meal for him…Jack staying home to take care of him when he had the flu…Jack still coming to visit him in the hospital after he was shot, even though he snapped at her…Him in the hospital after being shot a second time and Jack being frightened of him…_

"Alex!" He suddenly heard Yassen yelling, "What happened?"

Alex gave a gasp as he registered he'd been clenching his fists. He realized suddenly he was fighting back something that was like tears, only bigger and harder to hold back. He needed a moment for this; he didn't want Yassen to see this.

"I'm fine!" He yelled out in a hoarse voice, "Piss off!"

Thinking that perhaps that wouldn't be enough, Alex managed to reach out to lock his bathroom door before sliding to the tiled ground. Before he quite knew what was happening, he found himself sobbing so hard it physically hurt. Outside, Yassen was pounding on the door.

* * *

As his heart sank, a determined resolution gripped Yassen. Springing to action, he strode to the door of Alex's bathroom. He pounded on it.

"Alex! Open the door; I need to see what happened!"

There was no response from Alex, but Yassen heard… He heard Alex sobbing on the other side. A horrible chill struck Yassen, something was terribly wrong.

"Alex, I'm coming in," He said quietly, trying not to frighten the teen. "Stay away from the door, alright?"

There was still no answer, but Yassen knew he couldn't wait any longer. He looked at the very solid door for a moment, not at all happy about what he had to do.

'_This is going to hurt…'_

Then, gritting his teeth, Yassen rammed his shoulder as hard as he could into the door. The motion sent spirals of pain through his shoulder, arm and chest, but there was a satisfying crunch as the door's lock was broken. Without hesitation, Yassen yanked the door open.

The sight that greeted him was like a fist in the stomach. Alex was sitting curled up in the corner, with his legs bunched up in front of him like a shield. He had his head half resting on his knees, hidden behind one arm held over his face. His other arm was held limply away from him. Yassen felt another punch to the gut when he saw the blood slowly dripping from Alex's hand and fingers.

Alex didn't seem to register Yassen's presence. He was still sobbing, the action causing him to shudder pathetically. Alex was covered in blood and tears, the bathroom smelt metallic and salty.

As Yassen slowly approached Alex, he realized he had not been so frightened in a very long time. Malta maybe was the last time he'd been so horribly terrified. Trying to keep it together, Yassen knelt down by Alex.

"Alex…" The Russian said softly, gently prying Alex's uninjured arm away from his face, "Look at me."

Alex's face was blood smeared and damp.

"I keep doing it!" He moaned, "I keep hurting people Yassen!"

Yassen looked away for a second, realizing his own eyes were stinging. He took a breath shakily before looking at Alex again. If he was going to help Alex, he had to put his own old fears and insecurities aside.

"Who?" He asked as calmly as he could, "Who do you keep hurting?"

"Everybody!" Alex spat, "Jack, Tom, Sabina…Everybody! No matter how hard I try, I keep on hurting them! I made Jack _cry_ today, Yassen! I made her cry! Jack never cries!"

Yassen knew there was nothing to say to calm Alex down. Completely and utterly at a loss for a long, agonising moment, Yassen just looked at Alex, inwardly panicking about what he was supposed to do now. Then, not knowing what else to do, he hugged Alex to him, half expecting to be pushed away. To his surprise (and relief) however, Alex didn't protest, staying curled up and leaning against him. Alex's violent shuddering and sobbing jarred Yassen's sore shoulder horribly, but he just gritted his teeth and bore it.

* * *

Eventually, having exhausted himself, Alex sniffed and pulled away from Yassen. Secretly, the Russian was a little glad; Alex's weight on his bruised and battered shoulder was really painful.

"I feel stupid." Alex said thickly. His voice was raw, so speaking caused him to wince slightly.

Yassen raised a brow.

"Because you were upset?"

The look Alex gave the Russian suggested that 'upset' was the understatement of the year.

"No, because I'd decided that if you ever tried to hug me or any of that shit from the Foster Parenting website, I'd punch your face in."

"Oh." Yassen searched vaguely for the right words. "You can still do that now if you want?" He suggested, a tad weakly due to his scattered train of thought.

Alex rolled his eyes at the Russian.

"Tempting, but I think I'll give it a miss. Knowing my luck, you're stupid face would break my hand."

"Actually, that's just as well," Yassen said, "I'm really not in the mood to have my face punched in right now. Can I please have a look at your hand now?"

Sighing, Alex held out his half bandaged hand. Whilst the wound looked ugly, it had stopped bleeding. Deciding it would be alright for now; Yassen began to finish bandaging Alex's hand. Alex watched the Russian work for a few seconds before leaning his head back against the cold tiled wall.

"I'm sorry." He said in a faint, fatigued voice.

Yassen shook his head.

"Alex, you have to stop feeling responsible for anything that goes wrong. This was not your fault, alright? You're depressed, people get this way when they're depressed. It's not because you're selfish or hurtful."

Alex didn't say anything, but Yassen could see from his expression he didn't believe what was being said. Frustrated, Yassen finished bandaging Alex's hand and sat cross legged, watching Alex.

"Look, if you don't want to believe me, fine." The Russian said finally, "But either way, this is why you're seeing the psychologist tomorrow."

That raised a response from Alex.

"What about you?" Alex asked without opening his eyes, "Why do you need to see the psychologist? Because you tried to OD on cocaine and heroin right?"

His questions were quite obviously meant to be spiteful and barbed, but Yassen chose not to make an issue out of it. Alex was upset and angry; he was saying things he didn't mean. At least, that was what Yassen told himself.

"In part," Yassen allowed, "But because I was and still am depressed, like you. So, I understand-"

Alex suddenly sat up, eyes flashing open. Yassen was taken by surprise to see the fury in the teen's brown eyes. It was like a switch had been flicked and Yassen wasn't quite sure how he'd done it.

"Shut up!" Alex hissed, "You _don't_ understand anything! Do you know what it's like to have your life fall apart because people above the law control you? What it's like to have those people own you, control where you live, who's your guardian? Or better yet, do you understand how it feels to have to watch as you hurt and disappoint everyone you love time and time again?"

Yassen stayed silent, willing to let Alex vent himself. He didn't know what else there was he could do.

"No you don't!" Alex was shouting now and climbing to his feet, "Because anyone who matters to you is _dead_ already! So don't try to tell me that you understand, that you're there for me, because you don't and you're not! The only reason you bother with me is because you're hoping that you can find some bit of my dead Father in me! If you thought I was nothing like my Dad, you would have tossed me aside without a second thought!"

That one got to Yassen. He stood silently and looked at Alex hatefully for a long second before speaking.

"If that's what you think, then so be it," The Russian said, voice as cold and hard as ice, "But know this: you are wrong when you say everyone I care about is dead. I care about you and you're alive and well. I want to try and keep it that way, not least of all because I promised I would to Jack. However, if you're so sure that you're alone…so determined to _be_ alone, then fine. Enjoy yourself."

With that, Yassen left the room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him. Alex stayed where he was, covered in half dried blood and tears, staring after the Russian in utter shock.

* * *

'_Hmm, you didn't handle that very well, now did you?' _A small, tormenting voice in Yassen's head remarked coolly. _'Honestly, being interrogated by armed and bloodthirsty terrorists, no problem. An argument with a distraught teenager however and it's time for an emotional Chernobyl.'_

Yassen gritted his teeth and rolled over to face the digital alarm clock on his bedside table. The green, luminous numbers displayed the fact it was midnight. Yassen hated how the clock was able to so cheerfully exist without having to deal with any of the shit he went through.

The main problem at that moment was sleep. Yassen was exhausted; he hadn't slept in far too long and recent events had conspired to make every moment of his wakefulness as painful as possible. However, sleep was not forthcoming. An insomniac since birth, this would have been expected if it hadn't been for the fact that under normal circumstances, he was at least capable of four hours of rest a night. Not now though. For the millionth,

'_Millionth and one actually…'_

Time, Yassen regretted ever touching cocaine.

The worst thing, apart from the obvious, about his sleeplessness was that Yassen was forced to listen to every horrible, painful and shaming thought that little voice in his head tossed up. Most people knew that voice as their guilt, but Yassen, who'd spent much of his adult life regretting nothing, was caught unawares by the snide, cruel voice.

'_Alex is miserable, he's probably still sitting in that cold bathroom, covered in his own blood, thinking that you don't care about him anymore. It's entirely your fault too, you upset him, you didn't deal with his depression properly, hell, you're the one who killed his uncle and put him in this situation in the first place.'_

"Shut _up_!" Yassen growled, burying his face in his pillow angrily. For awhile, it seemed he was finally going to get some peace…

'_Look at you, you're pathetic. Reduced to guilt and regret that should've gotten you years ago. Alex is right to hate you, you're a selfish, spiteful asshole.'_

"I said shut…up!" Yassen snarled, sitting up. He swore ferociously to himself before sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face wearily. Well, here it was again. No sleep tonight and he was supposed to be talking to the Freud wannabe tomorrow.

Sighing, Yassen stood. He'd forgotten to turn the air-conditioning off, so he was cold and dehydrated. He pulled on a grey T-shirt and a pair of tracksuit pants over his boxers and left his room.

Dark and quiet, the apartment didn't reflect the anger and misery that'd been rampant hours before. However, the blood and knife did. Yassen had been to furious to bother cleaning it all up before and Alex hadn't left his room either. Shaking his head, Yassen bent over and picked the knife up. He put it in the sink (all the foam from the detergent had dissipated, leaving the water murky and grey) before grabbing the dishcloth and using it to try and clean up as much of the dried blood as possible.

Once his task was complete, Yassen turned to the dishes in the sink and started on those, scrubbing with a single minded determination that perhaps would have been more appropriate for a task like chopping down a tree. Part of him reasoned that he was only doing this because he had nothing better to do, but another part of him was thinking that he really must have OCD. Yassen tried to ignore that thought and concentrate on doing the dishes without cutting his hand like Alex. After all, that would be an absolutely fabulous way to finish today off.

Yassen was disappointed to find that he'd only used up ten minutes and there was still no inclination to sleep. He stood in the middle of the kitchen uncertainly, wondering what in god's name he was supposed to do now. Potentially, he could do anything except the one thing he wanted: sleep.

The real kick in the teeth was that Yassen had had medication to help him fall asleep. However, he'd left them in the London apartment after the fight with Donati. Chances were that his medication was now in a neat little plastic bag marked 'evidence' in some police officer's desk. Wonderful, truly wonderful.

Sighing, Yassen happened to glance over to the corner where the walnut and glass liquor cabinet stood. He wasn't a particularly avid drinker; he usually had a glass of red wine or shot of vodka every night out of routine more then actual preference. However, he really didn't see what else there was to do.

Morosely, Yassen found a bottle of vodka and measured himself a shot. Once that was gone, he started again. This shot was much more generous.

'_Shit that burns…Blue label Stolichnaya? What am I thinking? It's 100 proof for God's sake…'_

Yassen gave it another generous shot before deciding that having a hangover tomorrow would be a bad idea (amongst a lifetime of bad ideas). A little reluctantly, he pushed the bottle away before standing. To his surprise, that took more concentration then normal.

"Idiot." He reprimanded himself before walking back to his room. He thought he might be able to sleep now.

* * *

Alex stayed sitting in the bathroom a long time. There was a clock on the bathroom cabinet, when he eventually looked up to it, it read midnight. He shivered, the bathroom was really cold. As he stood, Alex winced. His legs were very stiff and weren't doing a very good job of moving him. Giving up, Alex just sat on the bench of his shower. Thankfully, the air conditioning has long since dried the shower out.

'_Well, you've really screwed up now.' _Alex thought miserably to himself, _'The closest thing you've got to a parent right now and you basically just told him to fuck off. Good bloody job prick.'_

That thought and the resulting guilt caused tears to well up again. Alex brushed them away with his unhurt hand however, angry at himself.

'_There's no use crying! You got yourself into this, you're the one who was a right little asshole to Yassen; you don't have the right to feel sorry for yourself_.'

Alex took in a breath and stood again. His legs hurt, but he ignored them. Slowly, he walked back out into his bedroom. The prospect of the psychologist loomed at the edges of his mind, but he disregarded that for now. Time enough for that later. Now, he just wanted to figure out what he was going to do now. Alex sat at his desk and stared into space.

As he sat there, Alex heard quiet footsteps in the kitchen. For a moment, he wondered what Yassen was doing. Then, after a pause, he heard water sloshing and figured the Russian was doing the dishes that he hadn't finished. That puzzled Alex, what sort of person got up at midnight to do dishes? Apart from the mother of all neat freaks and OCD sufferers of course…

Trying not to be heard, Alex carefully walked to his bedroom door. He opened a tiny bit and peered out. An unusual sight greeted him. Yassen sat at the kitchen counter with a shot of vodka. The Russian knocked it back quickly and gave himself a new one, much larger this time. He knocked that back too. Alex was puzzled, he was pretty sure Yassen didn't normally drink like this.

Alex watched as Yassen had a last shot of the vodka before pushing the bottle away and unsteadily getting to his feet.

"Idiot." Yassen muttered. For a second, Alex thought the insult was addressed at him. Then, he realized Yassen was speaking to himself. The Russian continued back to his room before shutting the door behind him.

Not sure what to make of anything that'd happened tonight, Alex did the same. Five minutes later, he was fast asleep.

* * *

Alex didn't remember waking up. All he knew was that one minute he must have been asleep, and the next, he was lying in bed staring at the ceiling. The angle of the sunlight slanting in through his window suggested it was very early in the morning, maybe seven or eight o'clock. Apart from the quiet sounds of his own breathing, everything was silent.

As quietly as he could, Alex slipped out of bed. Cautiously, he opened his bedroom door and peered out. Yassen was nowhere to be seen. The vodka bottle however, was still standing resolutely on the kitchen counter like an especially devoted nightwatchman. Walking slowly into the kitchen, Alex eyed it uncertainly. He wondered if maybe last night had been a binge for Yassen. A binge that he, Alex, had set off.

Shaking his head and thinking that he had enough problems himself without considering Yassen's drinking habits; Alex just picked the bottle up and walked over to the liquor cabinet. As he put the bottle back, he heard a voice.

"I would've thought you were too young to drink. Not to mention it's a bit early for alcohol in any case."

Startled, Alex jumped. Accordingly, he whacked his head on the top of the cabinet's interior. Swearing energetically, Alex turned to face Yassen. The Russian had managed to travel from his room to a point two metres behind him without making a single sound.

Yassen was regarding him without expression.

"I thought I said I didn't want you swearing?"

Alex, mind flashing to the previous evening's argument, was unsure whether or not to be polite or angry. The fact that Yassen wasn't expressing emotions in either category didn't help. In the end, Alex decided to adopt the same impassive tone and style as Yassen until he received a sign he should behave otherwise.

"Um, you surprised me and I nearly brained myself as a result. I think near brain damage tends to override a ban on obscenities." Alex said, inwardly impressed by how inexpressive he was able to made his words.

Yassen raised a brow (Alex was really starting to hate that little habit, it was simultaneously mocking and inquisitive and in all regards, very difficult to interpret), and shrugged.

"I suppose that's fair enough. What do you want for breakfast?"

The change of subject momentarily threw Alex. He recovered quickly though and shook his head.

"It's alright; I'll make myself toast or something."

Yassen still looked largely poker-faced, but a small flash of annoyance seemed to flicker briefly in his pale blue eyes.

"Alex, don't be stupid. What do you want for breakfast?"

Despite himself, Alex's sense of humour won out.

"Chocolate chip pancakes and coffee."

A tiny smile appeared on Yassen's lips.

"I'm sorry, but terrorist training camps don't usually stock chocolate chips. It's normal pancakes and fresh fruit or nothing."

Alex decided to interpret the humour on Yassen's part as a sign of a truce.

"Okay, I suppose that'll do," He adopted a falsely long suffering tone, "But I still want the coffee."

Yassen shrugged again and walked into the kitchen.

"Okay," The Russian said, starting to pull things like mixing bowls and flour out of the cupboards, "You can make me one too. No milk, double espresso and four sugars."

Alex paused at that one.

"Four sugars?"

Yassen nodded distractedly and Alex thought he saw unease cross the Russian's face.

"I…I have a headache. Coffee helps me deal with headaches and I like it really sweet."

Alex didn't say anything, just nodded and went to the task of making their coffees using the espresso machine. A sudden realisation hit him.

'_He has a hangover…Maybe not a big one, but enough that he's using the old sugar loaded coffee remedy…He doesn't want me to know that he was drinking, so he's just saying he has a headache…'_

Alex thought about all that while he made the coffee. In the background, he heard Yassen cooking (the smell of the pancakes made Alex's stomach growl) and occasionally muttering what sounded like Russian swear words when the pancakes stuck to the pan (Alex considered telling the Russian that you were meant to spray the pan between pancakes, but in the end he decided Yassen would figure that out on his own).

As Yassen served the food, Alex noticed that Yassen's serving was much smaller then his own. He knew that he shouldn't be intrusive, especially after Yassen had been good enough to forget last night's argument, but he just couldn't help it.

"Does cocaine really screw your appetite up that much?" Alex asked, wolfing down his own food. Yassen half shrugged and picked at his own food vaguely.

"Yes and no," The Russian admitted, "I'm just not feeling particularly well this morning. I'll probably eat later on."

Alex nodded like it was no big deal and finished off his breakfast by swallowing his coffee down like it was the elixir of life. Yassen frowned slightly at him.

"I didn't realise you were so hungry."

Alex paused for a moment, caught out. Then, with a sigh, he put his now empty coffee mug down and shook his head.

"I'm nervous. I umm, eat when I'm nervous."

Yassen offered a sympathetic smile.

"I'm sure today will be fine."

Alex shrugged and pushed his mug and plate away.

"I hope so. Do you know what the psychologist is like?"

"No, but they're bound to be very efficient if Scorpia have hired them."

Alex snorted.

"Efficient. Wonderful."

Yassen went back to picking at his food and drinking his coffee.

'_My thoughts exactly Alex…'_

* * *

"Have you started training yet?" The psychologist asked, doing what looked like taking notes on her laptop. Alex looked at the expensive machine, wondering what it was about Scorpia and their flashy gadgets.

"Not yet," Yassen replied, "Chris assigned us a week off."

"That's good," The psychologist glanced at something on her laptop before addressing Yassen, "You and Alex's medical details are interesting, to say the least."

Yassen didn't say anything, glancing at Alex. The teen was looking away, out the window. The psychologist's window looked out onto the camp border, marked by a twin pair of fifteen foot high electrified hurricane fencing and a watchtower. It was too far away for Alex to be able to make out the guard, but the blinding desert sun glinted off what was presumably a pair of binoculars. Beyond that, there was only empty desert.

"Neither of you say very much." The psychologist noted dryly, pushing a strand of her dark red hair out of her face, "Nervous I'll bite?"

Yassen shrugged.

"Alex had a bad experience with therapy with MI6."

Alex looked over at Yassen sharply, scowling.

"Oh thanks a lot." He snapped, "Nice to know you respect my privacy."

Yassen tried to look innocent. It wasn't an expression he had a lot of experience with.

"I'm just trying to help."

Alex crossed his arms across his chest crankily.

"No you're not. You're just as nervous as me, so you're turning me in to take the attention away from you."

Yassen raised a brow and Alex had to resist the urge to flip him off.

"Alex, you're being absurd. I'm merely trying to do what's best for you and-"

"Bullshit!"

The psychologist winced at the obscenity and held her hands up calmingly.

"Alright, can we stop for a minute? There's no need to go biting each other's heads off."

"Yet." Alex muttered. The psychologist shot him an evil look.

"At all," she growled, "Now here's what's going to happen. I'll deal with you one at a time, separately. Chris suggested two sessions with me a week each and modifying your schedules from there, alright?"

"I have a question."

The psychologist looked over at Alex.

"Yes?"

"Do we actually have any choice in all of this?" Alex asked, "Like, don't we get to decide whether or not we undergo therapy."

Yassen rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. The psychologist smiled wolfishly.

"No Mr. Rider, you do not. Any further questions?"

Alex looked sullen.

"No."

"Excellent, then we can get started. Yassen, I believe I will be starting with you."

Yassen looked sourly at Alex as the teen smiled sweetly at him.

* * *

"Why did you skip the therapy sessions Chris appointed you before?"

"I felt like it." Yassen said shortly, refusing to look the psychologist in the eye. Instead, he stared at the plaque on her desk. He had a good view of it from the leather armchair he sat in.

Gintare Ulaski.

"You have an interesting name," Yassen remarked, "Polish?"

Gintare shook her head.

"No, Lithuanian. That's not important though. I noticed Chris included a note on drug use in your file. Would you care to elaborate on that?"

Yassen didn't reply, stubbornly keeping his mouth shut. Gintare frowned at him.

"Mr. Gregorovich, you have to cooperate with me. Perhaps you weren't aware of this, but there are consequences for refusing to go along with this."

Yassen shrugged.

"Fine then. I'm sure I've been through worse then any punishment Chris can come up for me."

Gintare pressed her lips together grimly.

"You don't seem to understand what I mean. It would not be a punishment in the sense you think of."

Yassen raised a brow and looked away from the window to Gintare's face.

"Excuse me?"

Gintare looked at Yassen, bright blue eyes hard and steely.

"Chris Drummond has given me the authorization to use the drug sodium amobarbital to assist in the process of therapy, if you should prove unwilling to cooperate. Do you know what that means?"

Yassen shifted uneasily in his chair, realising that he had underestimated Gintare.

"No."

"Sodium amobarbital is a barbiturate derivative with sedative-hypnotic and analgesic properties. It's only approved to be used for the treatment of insomnia, anxiety and epilepsy, but I would be administering it as a sort of truth serum." Gintare said grimly.

"I thought that it was only a myth that truth drugs forced you to tell the truth?" Yassen asked. "That's what I was told in training."

Gintare shrugged.

"They may not force you into telling the truth, but truth drugs generally lower your inhibitions and conscious awareness to a level where it is generally very easy to persuade the person affected into telling you what you want."

Furious, Yassen stood.

"I will not tolerate this under any circumstances!"

Gintare leant back in her chair and regarded the Russian calmly.

"I suggest you cooperate with me then. What drugs were you using and to what extent?"

Yassen shook his head angrily.

"That's none of your business."

Gintare smiled coldly.

"Au Contraire, it is very much my business. Otherwise, I would not be doing my job properly, would I?"

"I think I liked your predecessor better." Yassen said derisively.

"Oh yes, you would. Haydn let you get away with murder, if you pardon the pun. I don't intend on doing the same."

"That's a pity then," Yassen said icily, "Because I also have no intention of cooperating with you and I most certainly do not intend to cooperate with being injected with any sort of drugs."

With that, Yassen turned to leave the room. However, he found that the door was locked, and would not open. Fuming, Yassen rounded on Gintare.

"I remote locked the door," She said, "Now sit down."

Yassen narrowed his eyes and made as if to do as he was instructed. However, as he passed Gintare's desk, he lunged forward. Before she could so much as cry out, the Russian used one hand to pin Gintare's hands and the other to grip her by the throat. He dug his fingers into her throat, causing her breath to come out in shallow rasps.

"Unlock the door," Yassen snarled quietly, "Now."

Gintare just smirked and Yassen suddenly realised he could hear other people in the small room. He turned around, dragging Gintare with him. Two of the _Squadra di battimento_were standing in front of him, guns raised.

"Let her go." One of them growled, moving forward a step. Yassen hesitated, considering his odds. Angrily, the Russian threw Gintare to the ground roughly. He walked towards the two guards, holding his hands up at chest height.

"Alright, alright," He said grumpily, "I did as you-"

The rest of Yassen's words were lost as the closer guard sunk the butt of his weapon into the Russian's stomach. Winded, Yassen would have collapsed to his knees. However, the other guard darted forward to hold him up. Gintare came forward suddenly, produced a needle, and emptied its contents into Yassen's arm.

"Alright, now put him back in the chair," Gintare told the guards, "Easy now…"

As he was eased into the armchair, Yassen spat out a Russian swear word. The two guards ignored him. Truth be told, neither of the guards where happy with what they'd just done. They knew Yassen reputation; they were considering the distinct possibility the Russian would exact his revenge on them.

"We'll wait outside," The older one said, "You know how to contact us."

Gintare just waved them away, turning to Yassen.

"That could have been avoided you know."

Yassen glared at her sullenly, feeling very irritated by the manner in which he'd just been bested.

"No it couldn't have," He replied nastily, "It was always going to end up like this and you know it. What do you plan on doing now?"

Gintare smiled sweetly.

"Now we simply wait for the drugs to kick in."

Yassen felt his mood sink even further.

* * *

Alex had been given free reign for the duration of Yassen's therapy session, so he decided that wandering around the camp and getting to know his surroundings would be a good use of time. He didn't feel like going back to the apartment; all that waited there was a still bloody bathroom that he was going to have to clean eventually.

The camp was thriving around him; as he walked through the hallways, Alex caught snatches of foreign languages and saw that despite the camp's location, the population was highly diverse. Alex was interested to notice that few gave him a second glance, and those that did seemed more curious then unfriendly. At one point, a tall, black haired woman with a pretty face stopped him.

"Hey, are you Alex Rider?" She had a New York accent and had the tough appearance that her accent warranted.

"Yeah, why?" Alex hoped he wasn't going to be subjected to anything hostile. Yassen had told him that the trainees here would be tough on him, but not hateful.

"I just wanted to say good luck," The woman grinned, showing slightly uneven but fastidiously clean teeth, "You're gonna need it here."

Before Alex could respond, the woman had gone. Not altogether reassured, Alex shook himself and kept walking. He passed one class where everyone seemed to be constructing explosives, another where the students were assembling guns blindfolded and yet another where the teacher (a stout, ruddy faced woman) was rapping off important details about the Cold War and how in many respects, it marked the birth of modern espionage. Alex smiled; it was a lot like normal school. There were even a couple of 'students' passing notes.

Alex eventually left the shelter of the building. Squinting in the bright sunlight, Alex realised he was near the canine training facility again, but approaching from a different angle. To his surprise, he was Zarina standing at the entrance, waving at him. Alex jogged over.

"Hi." Alex looked over Zarina's shoulder to see the dogs galloping around their caged in run. They were howling their heads off and whilst none of them actually attacked each other, there was a fair amount of teeth displaying and playful nipping.

Zarina smiled sunnily and raised a hand in greeting. Alex noticed that Walid wasn't with her.

"Where's Walid?" Alex asked. He'd liked the Arabic man from their first meeting.

Zarina started to sign something and then remembered Alex wouldn't understand. So, she hesitated for a moment, obviously thinking. Then, she motioned like she was lifting weights and pointed out into the distance where Alex could see a Black Hawk helicopter sitting on the hard packed dirt.

"Oh, training?" Alex asked, "Walid is training to be in the Airborne?"

Zarina nodded, obviously satisfied with the way she'd gotten her message across and turned back to the gate of the canine training area. Somewhat nervously, Alex followed her through. Across a small square of cracked cement with weeds poking up was a basic kiosk style office. A tallish and well built man walked out. He had skin that suggested Latino heritage from one of his parents and a faintly greying crew cut.

"Zarina!" Alex was surprised to see he spoke with no discernible accent, "You're back again?"

Zarina smiled and nodded, walking towards the enclosed run where the dogs had stopped their vicious looking antics and were pressing themselves up against the fences and whining. Alex watched in amazement.

The dog's trainer smiled at him.

"Yeah, it's bizarre. The dogs hate everyone, even me, and yet Zarina walks over there and they're turned to pets. My name's Miguel Sanchez by the way."

Alex shook Miguel's offered hand and studied the way Zarina poked her fingers through the fencing and stroked the dog's snouts.

"How long has she been able to do that?" He asked, still slightly incredulous.

Miguel grinned again and shrugged.

"Three months? It took her awhile to get to this stage; she nearly lost a finger the first time she tried touching the dogs."

Alex frowned.

"Why would she bother?"

"Zarina loves dogs," Miguel said simply, "I think she must be part dog herself."

Zarina looked up at that and raised an eyebrow with a cautionary expression on her pretty face.

"You know it's a compliment," Miguel grinned widely at her, "So don't try and give me that look!"

Zarina smiled and motioned to Alex. Disbelievingly, Alex looked over at Miguel. The man frowned slightly but shrugged.

"I think Zarina knows what she's doing."

Nervously, Alex moved over to kneel next to Zarina. At his presence, a lot of the dogs started to growl and quite a few raised their hackles and looked ready to tear Alex to bloody shreds. Zarina however wasn't bothered; she just snapped her fingers loudly and glared at the dogs. To Alex's utter amazement, the dogs dropped their heads and backed away. All except for one.

The remaining dog was less then half the size of the others; Alex guessed it was a puppy. In any case, it stayed where it was, ears back and regarding Alex suspiciously. Zarina stuck her hand through the fencing and reached out for the puppy. Snuffling a bit, the dog edged closer and Alex heard Miguel behind them.

"Oh for God's sake Zarina!"

Zarina looked up guiltily, hand still on the dog's head. Miguel was frowning at her.

"They're supposed to be attack dogs!" He complained, "Not bloody house pets. You know that one is impossible to train now? I'm surprised the other dogs haven't eaten it yet, with the way you soften it up."

Seeing the expression on Zarina's face, Alex glanced back at the puppy. It was sitting in the dust, head cocked and eyes fixed on him. Cautiously making sure the other dogs were nowhere near, Alex stretched out his hand to the small dog as well. The dog bounded forward and gleefully chomped down on his index and middle fingers.

"Shit!" Alex hastily pulled his hand back, studying the bite, "The little monster made me bleed!"

Miguel and Zarina exchanged amused expression.

"It likes you," Miguel declared cheerfully, rummaging in his pockets for a bandaid, "Besides, it matches your other hand now. What happened there?"

Zarina suddenly looked over at Alex sharply, noticing his bandaged hand for the first time. She looked up at Alex's face, eyes burning with a ferocious demand for an explanation.

"Um, I cut it?" Alex attempted, getting to his feet. Zarina did likewise, looking distinctly unhappy. She signed something to Miguel.

"She asked you in not so polite terms to expand on that answer. She asks if Yassen has seen it."

Alex sighed.

"I was washing dishes and I grabbed a knife by mistake. Yes Yassen has seen it, he bandaged it for me. It's nothing really."

Zarina still looked a little cynical, but she didn't pursue the subject further. She signed something else to Miguel and he smiled.

"Zarina says she wants to adopt this dog herself, but she's going on a short assignment soon, so she can't take care of it. She doesn't want the other dogs to eat it though, so she asked if you'd take care of it whilst she's gone."

Zarina looked at Alex hopefully whilst Miguel went carefully into the pen and clipped a chain leash onto the puppy. He led it out and stood next to Zarina and Alex quietly. Alex glanced at the puppy. It regarded him with what looked to Alex like an impish grin.

"What would Yassen say?" Alex asked, trying to hedge. Truth be told, he didn't really want to have anything to do with the dog, but he didn't want to disappoint Zarina either.

Zarina signed something more to Miguel and he quickly translated.

"You don't have to take it home or anything; just come and play with it sometimes."

Alex inwardly groaned and looked over at the dog in question. It was studiously ignoring him, busy rolling on its back in the dirt.

* * *

Yassen was feeling distinctly unwell. He'd been feeling really shit to start off with from his slight hangover, but now, with the sodium amobarbital in his system, he really felt like crawling into some dark hole and dying. His stomach seemed to be on revolt and he couldn't stop shivering which seemed odd to him considering how much he was sweating.

"Are you going to talk with me now?" Gintare asked.

Yassen considered that question for a long moment. He didn't really want to have anything to do with this woman; she struck him a nasty bitch. In fact, she reminded him far too much of Julia Rothman for his comfort.

"Maybe." Yassen didn't want to say anything to Gintare, but he didn't especially want another round with the two guards outside the office either. He thought he reply was a rather nice compromise, given the two options he'd been given.

Gintare sighed and started again.

"Could you please tell me what drugs you were taking whilst in London and before?"

Immediately, part of Yassen was fully prepared to answer. Another part ordered him to not say anything though. For a second, Yassen struggled to decide on what course of action to take. After awhile, it all just became too much and fell to another 'compromise'.

"I could." He said eventually, wincing as his stomach churned uneasily. "Whether or not I actually do however…"

Gintare frowned, lips forming a straight, grim line. She had a suspicious feeling all of the following sessions were going to be like this. It was not a particularly cheering prospect.

"Please tell me now."

Again Yassen struggled for a moment before sighing. He wasn't so full of drugs that he didn't realise that at this stage, it might be easier to feed the psychologist a few meaningless truths.

"Cocaine mostly," he replied dully, "Methamphetamines as well sometimes. I didn't especially like meth though; I always got agonising headaches when I used it."

"I see," Gintare murmured to herself, before addressing Yassen again, "And why'd you start?"

Yassen didn't like where the questioning was going. He didn't mind telling Gintare what he took, but why he started was starting to edge towards what he defined 'highly personal'. The reason he'd started drugs in the first place was something he'd never shared with anyone before…Sasha Kaminsky was the only person who might have known and she was hardly in any place to give him up now…

"Boredom?" He shrugged painfully (his shoulder had gone a nice blackish-blue colour, a souvenir of his door breaking effort from the previous evening), trying not to make eye contact. Gintare quite obviously didn't believe him and rightfully so.

"The notes I have describe your friendship with a now deceased Sasha Kaminsky. It draws the conclusion you began using cocaine as a result of that friendship."

Yassen looked sharply at Gintare, eyes flashing angrily.

"Sasha had nothing to do with my decision," he snapped, "Whilst it's true she offered the cocaine to me in the first place, I made the final decision. It was not her responsibility what decisions I made in that respect."

Gintare dropped the issue, although she made a mental note to return to the issue of Sasha Kaminsky.

"Alright, my apologies if I sounded insensitive."

Yassen didn't say anything, feeling a deep reaching misery at the thought of Sasha. He was not a man prone to guilt or even a lot of afterthought in regards to people and their deaths, but this time, he couldn't help it. He'd been the one to cause her untimely fate.

"Would you like to explain the real reason you began to take cocaine and methamphetamines?" Gintare asked, "So I can set the record straight in regards to Sasha Kaminsky?"

Yassen shrugged helplessly.

"Why does anyone start using drugs that slowly kill you?" He sighed, "You're the psychologist, so I'm sure you know why people do it."

Gintare shook her head and ignored the raw edge creeping into Yassen's words.

"I know why people take drugs, but you are not like other people. Are you?"

Yassen smiled. It was a bitter gesture and his eyes were far away.

"No, I'm not. Humour me though, why do people take drugs?"

Uneasy now, Gintare studied Yassen. She'd administered sodium amobarbital in the course of therapy before and it had usually worked well with impressive results. However, Yassen Gregorovich seemed to be a different case altogether; he retained much more of his conscious awareness then most of her patients and he seemed to be able to keep most of his inhibitions intact. In fact, the only sign that the drug was working he'd given (apart from his obvious physical discomfort), was the unusual emotionality he'd displayed.

"Come on Doctor Ulaski," Yassen's smile had a taunting edge now and Gintare suddenly found that the cold, merciless expression that had sprung to life in the Russian's eyes was making her skin crawl, "Play along. Why do people take drugs, even though they know they're dangerous?"

"Well, in the case of cocaine it's often that users enjoy the effects of the drug." Gintare said slowly, trying to ensure her voice didn't show any of the growing apprehension she was feeling. A sudden thought occurred to her; Yassen Gregorovich was very much in control here, no matter that he was the patient.

Perhaps sensing her realisation, Yassen gave her a truly chilling smile and shook his head.

"You're breaking your own rule," He said, "That's most people. I'm not most people, Sasha was not most people. Why would we take drugs if we knew how dangerous they were? Remember, I grew up as a street orphan in Moscow; I knew how lethal any drug could be. So what would it take to make people like Sasha and I forget all that?"

'_He's playing games with me, but they're just as dangerous for him as they are for me. The potential for him to reveal everything to me without knowing it is enormous…The amobarbital is working then, but not well…His metabolism must be much faster then I realised, he's resisting the inhibition lowering properties far better then he should…'_

"Depression," Gintare said aloud, jerking herself away from her train of thought, "Sasha was a diagnosed depressive; she was on medication. You were never diagnosed, but you attempted a drug overdose suicide which is indicative of severe depression. Depressives often abuse alcohol and drugs."

Yassen's face didn't lose its frightening expression, but Gintare noticed something enigmatic in his smile now. Gintare suddenly realised that Yassen had more or less avoided actually admitting there was anything wrong with him. She wondered if he was so proud that he was in denial about his own problems.

"What a pity," He said, "I thought you were going to get it for a moment. You came so close too…"

Momentarily at a loss, Gintare struggled for words. Yassen waved away her stuttering though and despite his pallor and sweaty face, looked completely in control.

"No more," He said, sounding half exhausted, half angry, "I'm not going to talk to you again today."

To her private embarrassment, Gintare Ulaski was relieved. Yassen Gregorovich frightened her and she could tell already from this first session that he was going to be a difficult, if not impossible patient. She nodded slightly and shakily pressed the button under her desk that unlocked her office door.

"You can go now," She said quietly, "I'll see you again in three days; I'll give a day's break between today and when I see Alex. That's the pattern I'll follow, one session, then a break."

Yassen just nodded and stood from his chair. He almost sat down again when his nausea hit him. He was still shivering and Yassen was irritated to find his legs were aching painfully. Gintare noticed his grimace.

"It's the amobarbital," she said, "You're having an adverse reaction to it. Fortunately however, it's not dangerous, just uncomfortable. You should be fine by tomorrow."

Waiting until Yassen was gone from her office, Gintare began to take notes in her laptop. She found it helpful to write a to-do list for each specific patient and check off each point as she completed it.

_**Increase amobarbital dosage (current dosage found to be largely ineffective)**_

_**Readdress issue of Sasha Kaminsky **_

_**Reach the root of subject's past (and predicted future) drug use**_

* * *

**Yeah, sorry about all of that... -Runs away and hides under bed-  
**


	12. Chapter Twelve, Injury

**Well, I can't really promise this chappie is any better then the last one. I did a lot of research for the training scenes though, so I hope you guys can appreciate that at least.**

**And just a warning, this chapter has a bit of alcohol and child abuse (Um, does it count as child abuse if someone's hits Alex? Maybe I should just call it 'Alex abuse') in it as well as a generally large amount of anger and angst.**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve, Injury**

By the time he returned to the apartment, Yassen felt utterly destroyed. As he let himself into the living room, he all too happily collapsed onto the couch. Rolling onto his back, the Russian closed his eyes and tried to will his sick feeling away. After awhile and no discernible results, Yassen began to wonder where Alex was.

"Alex?" He was slightly appalled at the sound of his own voice, he sounded like he was dying.

'_I feel like it too, putting it melodramatically…'_

There was no response from Alex, so Yassen gingerly forced himself to his feet. He looked around the kitchen and living room, but he couldn't see any note from Alex detailing where he was or when he'd be back. Thinking of Amil and Jun suddenly, Yassen began to worry. He figured he could at least call Chris and ask if he'd seen Alex.

Yassen was just about to call Chris on his mobile when he heard the faint buzzing that marked someone swiping the electronic key-card needed to get through the apartment's front door. As far as Yassen knew, the only person besides himself that had a key-card was Alex.

A second later, Alex came walking into the apartment, muttering and studying one of his hands for some reason. He didn't notice Yassen watching him.

"…Damn monster bit me again…Little son of a-"

Alex trailed off, noticing Yassen.

"What happened to you?" Was the first question out of the teen's mouth. It was a spoken in a rather aghast, shocked voice.

Frowning and wondering if he really looked so bad, Yassen shrugged.

"Therapy happened to me. Never mind that now though, where were you?"

Either feeling especially jaded or perhaps just in a generally bad mood, Alex shot the Russian a sullen look.

"If you're going to start asking me where I was and setting curfews, you're taking the Foster Parenting thing way too seriously."

Yassen pulled a face and shook his head. He really didn't feel up to whatever problems or attitudes Alex had managed to summon for himself.

"I just asked a simple question. So where were you and who bit you?"

Alex sighed and began nursing his fingers again. Yassen noticed that they were covered in bandaids. Part of the Russian mind was reflecting that in normal circumstances where things like social workers existed, he would look like an abusive parent, what with Alex covered in bandages, scratches and suffering severe depression.

"I was at the dog kennels. Blitzkrieg bit me." Alex said eventually, apparently deciding he wasn't in too bad a mood to share his misery. Yassen tried to decide which part of Alex's statement was more worrying and therefore needed to be addressed first. He decided on the being bitten part. It seemed like the logical place to start.

"I'm sorry, _who_ bit you?"

Alex grimaced.

"Blitzkrieg. Young Butcher Dog, eighty five pounds and enjoys attempting to eat my fingers. Miguel says the damn mutt really likes me."

Yassen felt like throttling Alex out of pure exasperation.

"Didn't I say to stay _away_ from the dogs?"

"Now that you mention it, I do recall you saying something of that nature." Alex agreed, wiggling his fingers in front of his face morosely, "And now I see why. I thought I'd be okay though, I was with Zarina. Somehow she conned me into 'playing' with that monster whilst she's away."

Despite his annoyance at not being listened to, Yassen felt sympathetic.

"Look Alex, I love Zarina, most people do, but you need to understand something straight away: Zarina is extremely self-centred, she'll ask the most atrocious things of people and use her face as enticement. Understand me?"

"I do now," Alex muttered before looking at Yassen again, "Are you sure you're alright? You look, umm, mildly unwell? How was therapy?"

As if to prove Alex's point, Yassen's headache gave an especially painful throb. The Russian clenched his teeth and bore it the best he could.

"Therapy?" Yassen repeated, wondering when the aspirin was going to start working, "Therapy was…intense. Now I'm going to bed and you can get your own food tonight. If you can't cook, the camp has a cafeteria."

Alex raised a brow.

'_Damn, he's stealing my habit…' _Yassen thought before shaking himself. He wondered if the amobarbital was making him delirious.

"If therapy was fine, then why won't you be able to cook?" Alex asked, "And besides, I thought you were an insomniac?"

Yassen winced as the nausea took another stab at him with the all too willing support of his headache.

"I can't cook because I'm sick. And just because I'm going to bed, does not mean I'm going to sleep. If you must know, I just want to lie down so I don't vomit everywhere."

Alex took that charming mental image rather well, only shuddering once.

"What are you sick with?" He asked suspiciously, "You look more like you're overdosed on something to me! Are you taking cocaine again?! You barely just got off it-"

"Alex!" The effort of yelling at Alex was taking a heavy toll on Yassen, both physically and in terms of his rapidly diminishing store of patience, "I am _not_ on cocaine! I'm just…well, not sick, but having a bad reaction to something I took."

Alex gave a half smile that was far too arrogant for Yassen's liking. The Russian considered punching the smile off of Alex's face. Then, he shook himself. Alex did piss him off, but he must really be messed up from the truth drugs if he was even thinking of raising a hand against Alex.

"You mean the vodka from last night?"

"No…Yes," Yassen groaned, thinking how nice it would be to escape Alex's questions for a quiet, dark bedroom, "A bit of each!"

"Each?" Alex was really getting suspicious now, "What did you have besides the vodka?"

Yassen managed to glare at Alex and growl,

"Nothing," before giving up, "I'm going to bed now, so either hurry up and go to the cafeteria or start making yourself dinner! If you're going to cook yourself, keep it down."

Still not convinced, Alex narrowed his eyes and levelled an impressively distrustful stare in Yassen's direction before storming out of the apartment. As any self-respecting teenager would, he was very careful to slam the door behind him.

* * *

It took Alex fifteen minutes and numerous wrong turns (including a very embarrassing misadventure into a poorly signed female locker room) to find his way to the cafeteria. Luckily for Alex, La tomba della sabbia operated on a 24 hour basis. Student facilities such the cafeteria, library, tech centre, firing range and dojo were open all the time for anyone who cared to use them.

As Alex wondered into the cafeteria and looked around the room, he suddenly felt like grinning. This was like school; he was the new student and he had no idea where to sit. The only friends he'd made here were Zarina, Walid and Miguel (he wasn't sure whether Chris Drummond was a friend; the man was largely unpredictable. Besides, his position made it a little difficult to really think of him as a friend exactly) and none of them were in the cafeteria at the moment. In the end, Alex figured he'd get his food and just go sit in an empty table near the back of the room. That way, he wasn't taking anyone's seat and he could watch the entire cafeteria whilst he ate.

Trying to avoid eye contact with anyone (although Alex was sure he could feel other people's eyes on him), Alex walked up to the self-serve buffet, picked up one of the metal trays and began grabbing food without really looking at what he was doing. Then, he quickly picked up what he thought was something like a protein shake and retreated as fast as possible to the table he'd chosen. Only once he was there did Alex bother looking up.

It was true that a few people were watching him; in particular, one younger looking man sitting at the opposite side of the room. With a jolt, Alex realised it was the guy who'd painfully slide-tackled him as a favour for Jun. The man grinned widely at him and made a motion for Alex to join him.

Alex hesitated, imaging all sorts of things like being tripped and having his face punched…Hell, even being shot as a joke occurred to him. However, as Alex registered that quite a few people were watching the interaction between the two of them, he realised he didn't have a choice; if he backed out now, it would like admitting he was weak. With a quiet groan, Alex picked up his tray and slowly walked over to the other table.

"Hey Alex!" The Spanish man was all cheer Alex noted sourly, "I thought you weren't going to come. Here, sit next to me!"

Doing so, Alex shot the man a slightly peeved look. The man noticed it, gave another grin and nodded.

"I forgot! You don't know anyone here!" He exclaimed gleefully, "Well, my name is Jose Sanchez-"

"Like Miguel Sanchez?" Alex asked, curious despite himself. Now that he looked closely, he could see a bit of a resemblance between the two men. They had the same big, brown eyes with thick lashes and the same million dollar smiles.

"Hey, you met my Uncle?" Jose seemed delighted, "Well, if he liked you, you've got to be okay!"

Alex glared at Jose.

"Yet you still had no problem taking me down during football."

Jose nodded easily at Alex's accusation, completely unashamed.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Jun really made it worth my while though; I mean, how could I not? I won't do it again though, I love my football and it pisses me off when people bring their shit onto the field."

Alex was sceptical still, but he knew he couldn't really afford not to make friends, so he let it go. Jose seemed to like him, or at least just like having someone to listen to his rapid fire talking without argument.

"Okay, so why'd you call me over just now?" Alex tried not to sound hostile, just curious.

"Well, I sort of felt a bit bad about what I did. Besides, I noticed you're pretty damn good at football, first-class even. You a regular player?"

Alex shrugged.

"I played for my school and for a London youth team a few times. My team won some prizes and miniature leagues, but I haven't had much time to devote to sport over the last year or so."

Jose considered that for a moment before nodding to himself.

"Okay, that sounds alright. There's quite a few of us here that are massive football addicts, we have our own impromptu leagues and stuff like that. My team is down a player though, so I was going to ask if you were interested in the position."

Alex was sorely tempted, he really did love football and the opportunity to play on a team and make friends was a very attractive one.

"What happened to your old player?"

Jose clicked his tongue against his teeth in a thoughtful gesture.

"She got killed. Chinese Intelligence shot her and sent us the tape."

"Charming," Alex muttered before sighing and looking up, "What's the position?"

"Judging by the way you played before, striker or maybe centre-forward," Jose replied carelessly, "Depending on what you're used to."

"Okay…" Alex realised he had more or less made his mind up already, "And when are the practises?"

"Well, that's the sketchy part," Jose admitted, "It can be hard to fit good sessions between training and assignments, but we try to have full team practises at least once a week. More often if we can. So what do you think?"

Alex grinned and nodded.

"Sure, sounds good."

Jose cheered, drawing good humoured complaints about the noise from the other people in the cafeteria.

"¡Enfríese!" He declared before looking over at Alex, or more specifically, his tray of food, "You hungry or something? Doesn't Yassen feed you?"

Alex looked down at his tray. In his haste to just grab something and get out of there, he'd pretty much piled the food in mountains on his tray. There was no possible way he'd be able to eat everything on his tray.

"Um, I was trying to be quick," He said, "And Yassen usually would cook, but he's sick."

Jose raised a brow insolently.

"You sure he's sick? Because from what I remember, Gregorovich was 'sick' a lot last time he was around camp. In fact, I think him and this other _Mujer, _Sasha or Shannon or someone, were like, getting 'sick' together and-"

Alex glared at Jose and took a savage bite out of a bread roll.

"Yes I'm sure he's sick!" He snapped, cutting Jose's mindless invective off "And I don't remember it being any of your business!"

Jose threw his hands up in submission.

"Alright, alright," he said in mock hurt, "Just saying is all. No need to bite my head off, right?"

"'Mm," Alex mumbled through his mouthful of chicken, bread and lettuce, trying not to make eye contact with Jose lest the man see Alex's own misgiving and doubts in his eyes.

* * *

As per usual, Yassen was still awake. He thought maybe he was feeling slightly healthier now. Only slightly though; he still had a murderous headache and his shivering had reached the point where Yassen felt like was being electrocuted. At least the nausea was gone. He made a mental note to try and find out the half life of sodium amobarbital.

As that thought crossed his mind, Yassen's mobile phone began to vibrate and skitter haphazardly across his bedside table. Wincing, Yassen sat up and had a look at the screen. He raised a brow as he realised it was an SMS. Only one person ever used the texting function when communicating with him.

_See you in five mins. Unlock your door!_

Yassen sighed and put his phone down. He wished he still had his old phone, the brown one, not this new ostentatious gadget that was begging to be stolen. Then, pushing aside that thought, Yassen walked out into the kitchen and using an electronic keypad by the front door, left the entrance unlocked. He didn't really know why he had locked in the first place anyway; he was hardly going to be attacked here. Yassen shook his head and decided he'd put it down to his natural paranoia.

With that task out of the way, Yassen headed back to the kitchen. Ignoring the fact he'd already taken aspirin within the last few hours, the Russian lethargically swallowed another few pills and then, figuring that he should probably take more proactive measures against his headache, found himself a litre bottle of water in the refrigerator and promptly began to drink it like a dying man in a desert would.

After a minute or so, feeling slightly better, Yassen put the bottle away and found the half full bottle of 1955 Château Cheval Blanc he'd been sampling the previous evening and poured out two glasses. Part of him knew his was grovelling because he knew he was in trouble somehow, but his pride declared he was just being generous.

'_I don't think so somehow! The only thing that would prompt you to share such a good red wine would be because you're hoping it'll work as bribery!'_

Yassen had just put the now (sadly) depleted bottle away when he heard a knock on the door. The Russian shook his head in amusement. The whole situation felt absurd. Walking over to the door, he opened it and looked at the woman at the other side with raised brows.

"Why'd you bother knocking?" He asked, "You told me to leave the door unlocked."

Zarina just shrugged and walked into the apartment. Looking around, she ignored the glasses of wine and turned to Yassen.

"_Where's Alex?" _

"Cafeteria presumably," Yassen replied, "At least, that's where I sent him."

Zarina frowned at him, reminding Yassen suddenly of an interfering Aunt or Grandmother. Not that he'd ever known such a person. He wasn't positive, but he was fairly sure that both his parent's parents had died long before he'd been born.

"_I thought you cooked?" _She asked, facial expression portraying the suspicion that her hand motions couldn't.

"Normally, yes." Yassen agreed, offering Zarina one of the glasses of wine, she shook her head and Yassen inwardly groaned. He hadn't been thinking; of course she'd refuse. She needed her hands for signing and besides, she knew he was trying to distract her.

"I wasn't up to it tonight," Yassen explained, trying not to sound like a schoolchild being reprimanded by a teacher, "I was and still am sick."

Zarina's eyes narrowed dangerously and her signing came fast and angrily.

"_Don't lie to me! I know what happened at therapy, Gintare told me everything! I can't believe you attacked her like that!"_

Yassen knew he was really screwed now. He tried not to cringe and just waited for it to be over. He was good at waiting patiently for his problems to end. A small nasty voice in his head wondered if that's what the definition of his life was.

"_Please tell me you didn't seriously think I'd be okay with you just casually beating up Gintare! Please tell me you're not that stupid!"_

Yassen frowned and took a small sip of his own glass of red wine.

"In all fairness, you know I was never going to take being drugged with a smile. Besides, it wasn't deliberate on my part; I just lost control for a minute."

Zarina looked well and truly furious now. Yassen wondered if she was going to slap him. He hoped not; he wasn't sure how he'd react.

"_You always use that excuse and it's just wrong! I'm sick and tired of you 'losing control' and ending up hurting anyone unfortunate enough to be within a five metre proximity of you! What happens when someone you really care about is that unfortunate person?! What if it's me or Alex next time? What will you do then?!"_

Yassen felt his temper surge to life now. He didn't get angry at Zarina very often (in fact, he thought that perhaps he'd only been truly furious with her once or twice in the history of their friendship), but he was now.

"How dare you!" He snarled, "You know perfectly well I'd never hit you or Alex! I can not believe you'd say something like that! And on that subject, don't try to give me a lecture on this! You don't actually care about my temper; you're just pissed off because it was your girlfriend I attacked! If it had have been anyone else, you wouldn't have given a shit!"

Zarina looked like she'd been slapped in the face. She had gone very pale and was staring at Yassen with a look of mingled fear and hurt. She regarded him in that manner for a long second; biting her bottom lip, before shaking her head sadly.

"_Fine Yassen, if that's the way you want to play, with low blows… Here is mine: you're a selfish asshole. You don't appreciate anything, and you certainly don't appreciate that everyone around you has been trying to help you for a long time now. You're just too wrapped up in your own misery and self-pity to give a rat's ass about anyone else."_

Yassen didn't say anything, staring at Zarina with a hard expression. Zarina looked at him and continued.

"_I actually didn't come here tonight to fight with you about Gintare, but you refused to admit you were wrong so this is how things turned out. I was actually going to talk to you about Alex, but never mind that now. You obviously don't care about him or me. I'm leaving for Greece tomorrow, so I have to go pack now. I'll talk to you some other time Yassen."_

With that farewell, Zarina shot Yassen one last angry and upset look before storming out of the apartment. Yassen watched her go, realising he might have pushed away one of the few people he truly cared about for good.

* * *

To Alex's surprise, he found talking to Jose enjoyable. He learnt that Jose was from Mexico City, where his Uncle enjoyed a well deserved a reputation as a vicious crime boss whose favourite way of taking out hits on people was to send packs of starved dogs chasing them through the city in the middle of the night. Once the dogs had the person cornered, he sent in regular thugs to finish the job.

"I dunno, it all sounds a bit overdone and flamboyant to me," Alex remarked, picking apart a chicken wing, "Wouldn't it be easier just to shoot them in the head and then get the hell out of there?"

Jose rolled his eyes.

"You are definitely going to end up an assassin," he remarked, "But yeah, you're right. It is easier, but when you've got to impose your reputation over an entire city, you need to do things as big and dramatic as possible. Otherwise people aren't scared of you, ¿Usted me consigue?"

"Sí, supongo tan." Alex said. Jose raised a brow at him.

"¿Usted dice español?"

Alex half shrugged.

"Aproximadamente. Ha sido un rato ya que he necesitado a."

"English then," Jose said decisively, "But yeah, you know what I mean. It's all about reputation."

Alex grinned at that.

"Hell yeah, I hang around with Yassen after all. I don't think anyone understands reputation quite like Yassen."

"Speaking of," Jose looked at Alex, "Are you meant to… I don't know, have a curfew or something?"

Alex frowned.

"I'm not a little kid. Besides, you can't be that much older then me!"

Jose looked put out.

"Man, I'm twenty!"

Alex tried not to blush; he'd thought Jose was maybe eighteen if that.

"Oops," He laughed, "Sorry mate. You look younger!"

Jose mock growled and punched him in the shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, never mind that now. Seriously though, King Frosty expect you back any particular time?"

"Erm, no." Alex blinked, "King Frosty?"

Jose nodded and motioning to Alex to follow him, led the way out of the cafeteria.

"Yeah, coz he's a cold hearted son of a bitch. Plus you know, they say 'stay frosty' in the US Marines? Yeah, well, Yassen's frosty as they come."

Alex shrugged; he didn't feel the need to join in on giving Yassen nicknames. The man was egotistical as it was.

"Sure. Where are we going?"

"A place where we trainees hang out during the night," Jose explained, "Technically speaking though, it's not really allowed so…"

Curiosity spiking, Alex nodded.

"Yeah."

Satisfied by Alex's response (or rather, lack there of), Jose led the way out of the building.

"Okay, we got to keep low," He said in a whisper, "The Beat Squad sometimes patrol around our route; I nearly got caught by them once. Just follow me though and we'll be okay. If we get caught, just say you were lost, looking for the dojo."

Alex nodded again and followed Jose. The two of them snuck around the side of the cafeteria and between two smaller buildings. There was a small, coverless patch of ground that they had to traverse, being careful to avoid the attention of the guards in the nearby watchtower. Eventually, they came to an area where the ground sloped up steeply, littered with large boulders, small gullies and a largish flat area up the top.

"They practise camouflage and stuff like that during the day," Jose muttered, leading the way up the slope, following a near unidentifiable trail, "But it's closed during the night. We sort of just hang around, talking and stuff. The older operatives know what goes on, but it's like, 'keep it quiet and we won't bust you'."

"Cool." Alex grinned. He noticed that someone had thought to bring a stereo up here; the heavy rock music and lack of lights gave the whole thing a subversive air. Alex thought he counted around fifteen people, ranging between about eighteen and twenty-five. Although he was by far the youngest there, no one challenged his presence.

"Hey Jose!" A younger woman with a German accent cheered, "And you brought the kid with you?"

Alex smiled at the woman. She was pretty, with hazel eyes and short, quite obviously dyed red hair that fanned around her face nicely. He guessed she was maybe nineteen or twenty.

"Yeah, I bullied him into it." Alex said cheerfully, winking at Jose.

The woman sniggered and handed her drink to a friend before hugging Jose tightly.

"You big asswipe!" She laughed, "Can't say no to a fourteen-"

"Fifteen!" Alex interceded.

"-Fifteen year old!"

Jose winked back at Alex over the woman's shoulder.

"Hey what can I say?" He asked playfully, "The little brat's very persuasive."

The woman sniggered again and turned to Alex.

"Hey kiddie," She had to speak up over the music, "I'm Adelind Weber! Who the hell are you?"

"Alex!" He replied, "Alex Rider!"

Adelind's eyebrows shot up.

"John Rider's son…No kidding!"

Then, she turned to a couple of her friends.

"Hey! We got John Rider's son over here! Get the boy a drink!" She shrieked good naturedly, "Get him something good!"

Before Alex really had time to protest (and in all honesty, he wasn't going to argue with someone as pretty as Adelind), he found himself standing with a can of beer in his hand. Jose was laughing manically at the look on Alex's face.

"Come on Alex," He cheered, "Let's see how much you can take!"

Alex grinned despite his misgivings and raised the can in a sort of salute.

"Okay fine," He replied, "I've got a week off, so who cares if I get a hangover, right?"

Jose smirked and nodded, but Adelind didn't look quite so impressed at that thought.

"Alright, do what you like Rider!" She said, "But I'm not letting a fifteen year old kid get a hangover! God knows there are enough of those already!"

Alex pretended to scowl at the German before gingerly drinking the beer. It wasn't fantastic in his opinion, but not as bad as he'd expected.

"Hey!" Jose laughed again, making Alex suspect he was a little drunk, "Not half bad!"

* * *

Alex had just finished his second can and was halfway through a third when Adelind leant over and plucked the can from his grasp.

"Nice try Rider," She said with an amused sort of scowl, "But I don't think so. You need to go back now!"

Alex scowled.

"Why? I've only been here fifteen minutes, if that!"

Adelind smirked.

"You have a truly shitty sense of time; you've been here almost an hour. Now get back to wherever you're staying before Yassen decides to shoot all of us for attempting to kidnap you or something."

Alex looked disappointed.

"Fine," He sighed, "But I don't know my way back."

Adelind rolled her eyes and turned to Jose who was engaging in what looked like an attempt to suck his 'friend's' face off.

"Jose!" Adelind had to shriek to get his attention, "Take Alex home!"

Jose blearily looked up and upon registering Adelind, promptly flipped her off and went back to making out. With a muttered German curse, Adelind turned back to Alex.

"Oh for…" She sighed, "I'll take you back then. I'm probably the least drunk anyway."

Cheering at the prospect of spending some time with the attractive German, Alex didn't raise any arguments. He followed her down the slope cheerfully, trying not to trip over. He wondered if he was drunk or not. He thought maybe, considering how cheery and clumsy he suddenly was.

"So, do you guys do that every night?" Alex asked, stumbling over a rock and almost bumping into Adelind.

She shook her head.

"No, once a week. There's no way we could do it every night, we'd all have hangovers all the time. Besides, trainees are not even meant to have alcohol onsite, so the trouble we'd have to go to get enough for every night…You understand me."

Alex nodded eagerly. Another thought occurred to him.

"I had no idea anything like that went on…It all seems, well, really _normal_ for a terrorist training camp…"

Adelind raised a brow at him.

"Training is very stressful Alex, we need something to help us cope and just relax. But I get what you mean."

The rest of the journey passed in relative silence (apart from a quickly stopped bout of humming on Alex's part). When they reached the apartment (Alex was surprised he made it; he'd nearly fallen twice trying to get up the stairs), Adelind leaned over and to Alex's immense appreciation, kissed him on the cheek.

"Good luck explaining to Gregorovich why you're late." she laughed, before walking away.

* * *

"You were gone a long time."

Alex looked up at Yassen who stood in the kitchen, his foolish grin fading somewhat.

"Was I?" He asked complacently, "I didn't notice."

Yassen's eyes flashed and Alex suddenly realised he was in trouble. His eyes fell upon a now empty vodka bottle on the living room's coffee table.

"Well I did." Yassen replied unpleasantly, "And unless you're stupid enough to try and tell me you spent all that time eating dinner, I'd like to know where you were."

Alex promptly shook his head. He remembered what Jose had said about not technically being allowed to be up on the slope and how Adelind had also mentioned alcohol wasn't supposed to be kept onsite by trainees.

"Nowhere." Alex muttered, moving into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Yassen looked angry.

"Don't insult my intelligence Alex," the Russian snapped, "I know you were off somewhere. That doesn't matter anyway; I'm more annoyed that you're so late."

Alex snorted and drank his glass of water slowly.

"That's none of your business," he replied, putting his glass down, "If I want to stay out late, I will."

Alex was surprised by Yassen's reaction. The Russian looked truly furious and again, Alex's eyes fell on the empty vodka bottle. A cold fear settled in his gut suddenly.

"No you won't!" Yassen snarled, "You ask me first! Don't presume you can just go off and do whatever just because you're not with Jack or whoever-"

"That's right, I'm not with Jack!" Alex replied, realising he was starting to shout, "So don't tell me what to do! It's none of your business how I spend my evenings!"

Yassen opened his mouth to reply, but stopped suddenly.

"You've been drinking," he said in an abruptly quiet voice, "You smell of beer."

"So have you!" Alex sneered, "Only you smell of vodka. Pretty sad really, you gave up the cocaine, but had to have something to use-"

The rest of Alex's words were lost as Yassen suddenly lashed out, hitting Alex across the face. At the last moment, the Russian pulled back, obviously having second thoughts. However, the gesture came too late and the blow was still hard enough to send Alex reeling.

"I…" Yassen stopped, not sure how to continue. He couldn't do anything but stare in shock at Alex.

Alex backed away from Yassen, shakily raising his hand to touch his face. He felt that his top lip had spilt open and knew there was bruise rising over the right side of his face. Barely holding back a whimper, Alex looked back up at Yassen with wide, frightened brown eyes.

"Y-you hit me…" Alex was incredulous, still not quite able to piece together what had happened, "You…"

Yassen felt panic take over. His words to Zarina just earlier on that evening, saying he'd never hit Alex, were burning in his memory.

"Alex, it was an accident!" Yassen tried to approach Alex, but the teen stumbled back from him in obvious fear, "I just…"

It was no use though; Alex was too frightened to listen. He shot Yassen one last look before fleeing for the relative safety of his own room.

Still in shock himself, Yassen just stayed standing in the middle of the kitchen. After a minute or so, his horror and self-anger replaced the numb shock.

'_You utter bastard! You just hit Alex, John Rider's son, in the face! What the fuck is __**wrong**__ with you?!'_

Yassen ignored that question, but he knew what was wrong with him. He'd already been messed up from the cocaine withdrawal, and then his argument with Zarina had made things a hundred times worse. Desperate just to push it all aside for a few hours, Yassen had begun drinking. And hadn't stopped until the bottle was empty.

'_Don't you __**dare**__ try to blame your fight with Alex on the vodka!' _A small, but all too loud voice snarled in his head, _'This is completely __**your**__ fault! __**You**__ picked the fight with Zarina; __**you**__ took your temper out on Alex. Just as Zarina warned you. Nice job asshole.'_

With a quiet, terrible moan, Yassen fully absorbed the extent of what he'd done. Desperate to fix it all somehow, he walked over to Alex's door.

"Alex," he called quietly, "Please come out. I didn't mean to hit you."

There was no reply, but Yassen could all too easily picture Alex sitting on his bed in terror, staring at the door in an attempt to drive him away. Biting his bottom lip, Yassen shook his head and left Alex alone.

Not knowing where else to turn, Yassen picked up his mobile and started to SMS Zarina.

_Zarina, I did something very wrong. I need your help._

Scared he wasn't helping things; Yassen sat in one of the living room chairs and waited. To his relief, Zarina was awake. His phone beeped as she responded.

_You need my help? There's no surprise... What did you do?_

Yassen ignored the annoyance he felt at Zarina's obvious sarcasm. He knew she was right.

_I was drinking when Alex came home. He'd been drinking too…I hit him._

Zarina's reply came very fast this time and Yassen felt mixed relief and an ominous fear of what was to come from Zarina when he read the short reply.

_I'm on my way._

* * *

When Zarina knocked on the door, Yassen opened the door, ready to face anger like none other from her. However, Zarina only shot Yassen a cold look before turning to more important matters.

"_Where's Alex?"_

"In his room," Yassen replied dully, "He won't come out."

"_I don't blame him. I'm going to talk to him."_

Yassen just nodded and let Zarina go, wondering how she was going to do that when Alex didn't know sign language.

* * *

Alex was sitting on the floor of his bathroom, vaguely rubbing at a patch of his own dried blood stuck between two floor tiles, when he heard another knock at his bedroom door. Instantly, he stiffened, trying to make as little noise as possible.

To his surprise, he didn't hear Yassen. Waiting in fear, Alex was confused to see Zarina walk into the room. The first thing she did was motion for pen and paper. Numbly, Alex pointed to the desk in his room.

"First drawer," he muttered, "Umm, pens are in there too."

Zarina nodded and returned quickly with a pad of paper and a black pen. She began writing quickly. Eventually, she passed it to Alex. It took him a moment or two to understand her spiky, closely spaced writing.

**What happened tonight? Yassen said both of you had been drinking. I know why Yassen was drinking, but why were you?**

Alex grimaced and gave the pad back to Zarina.

"I was with some of the other trainees," he replied, answering the second question first, "So I had a few drinks. I came home really late and…Well; Yassen and I just sought of fought…"

Zarina was already writing again.

**And that's when he hit you?**

Alex squirmed, remembering how the Russian had tried to stop at the last moment and the look of horrified guilt he'd had.

"He didn't mean to!" Alex replied, trying not raise his voice, "I mean, it was all a misunderstanding and…" To his dismay and embarrassment, he was fighting back tears again. He was so sick of being an emotional mess right now.

Zarina had gone pale; two bright spots of colour stayed over her cheeks and there was an icy fury in her eyes.

**Stay here,** she wrote, hand shaking from anger and making her handwriting even harder to decipher, **I'm going to talk to Yassen again.**

Alex looked at Zarina in alarm.

"Please don't! I don't want make this even worse!"

Zarina just shook her head and tapped her last message again with the pen.

* * *

Yassen looked up at Zarina from the seat he was sitting in. She stalked up to him; looking more livid then he'd ever seen her.

"_You son of a bitch!" _Her signing was difficult to follow because of the fact she was shaking from anger, _"I fucking warned you! I warned you what would happen and you told me you'd never hit Alex! Yet, here I am…Alex is sitting on his bathroom floor; he begged me not to make things worse, he said it was just a misunderstanding…"_

Yassen felt another surge of guilt.

"He said that?"

Zarina had furious tears sparkling in her eyes now.

"_Yes! Do you understand me?! Even though you hit him and scared him to death, he's still protecting you! He's still not angry at you! Alex loves you Yassen and you're taking complete advantage of that! You don't deserve Alex's understanding or kindness!"_

"I know," Yassen said in a quietly devastated voice, "Believe me, I know. Please don't think I don't regret it, because I honestly do. I wish I hadn't hit him."

Zarina looked tired, and Yassen knew if she'd had a voice to do so, she would have sighed.

"_Yeah, well, you did. Now we need to figure out what's going to happen for tonight. I was thinking of taking Alex with me and letting you sort yourself out. Alex will come back in the morning, I'm going to Greece and can't take care of him."_

"It's my responsibility anyway," Yassen said, "You don't have to take Alex though; I'm hardly going to hit him again. I lost my temper in therapy and with Alex, but I won't do it again."

Zarina shook her head.

"_I was thinking of Alex; he might not want to stay. What about if I ask him?"_

Yassen nodded.

"Yes, that's probably the best idea."

* * *

Alex had left his bathroom. He was now sitting on his bed, distractedly rubbing the side of his face where a large, dark bruise was appearing. Zarina thought maybe Alex looked calmer now, more composed. He held the pen and pad of paper out to her as she approached to sit next to him. With a smile, Zarina took it from him.

**I was thinking that maybe you'd like to stay with me tonight? **

Alex considered the offer for a moment before shaking his head.

"No…I don't think that's necessary… I know Yassen's sorry for what he did."

Zarina raised a brow.

**Are you sure? If you don't want to stay with me, I'm not offended. You can stay with anyone you want. Are there friend's you've made?**

Alex shook his head again, looking more certain this time.

"Um, yeah I've got friends I could go to, but I don't want to. I want to talk to Yassen."

Zarina wasn't sure what to make of Alex's request; she bit her bottom lip in a thoughtful gesture.

**Okay…** She wrote eventually, **If you really want to…**

* * *

"Yassen?"

Yassen wasn't sure how to arrange his expression when he looked at Alex, so in the end he just let his face fall into it's usual impassive cast. Inwardly though, he was cringing at the sight of Alex's split lip and bruised face.

"I have something to say," Alex sounded not exactly angry, but his tone didn't give the impression of a soft case pushover either, "I know this time it was a mistake on your part to hit me, but do it again and I'm not going to forgive you."

Yassen nodded slowly and his eyes flickered over to Zarina who was watching the proceedings blankly.

"That's…fair."

Alex shot Zarina an unfathomable look before continuing.

"Yeah it is. But anyway, I want to just forget about this, I'm going to bed."

Alex didn't wait for any sort of response from either Yassen or Zarina; he just looked back down at his feet and shambled back to his room, shutting the door behind him. Suddenly glad that she knew sign language because it was silent, Zarina turned to Yassen.

"_You know this is your last chance right?" _She asked, suddenly weary. Yassen nodded wordlessly.

"_Good, now please don't screw up again. Also, please try to let Gintare help you. She still wants to, even after today."_

Yassen tried not to scowl or pout; it would be childish. Instead, he let just a little of the anger and frustration he felt trickle into his eyes and words.

"It's hard to deal with anyone positively when they insist of pumping you full of drugs."

Zarina frowned, but didn't waver.

"_That's unfortunate, but not an excuse. Just do as I say, alright? I'm asking for your sake as well as mine or Alex's."_

Yassen realised that what Zarina had said about being on his last chance was applicable in more regards then Alex.

"Yes," He sighed, "You're right…About everything actually."

Zarina's eyes widened and she looked at him in surprise.

"_What's this? Actual humility from the great Yassen Gregorovich?"_

Yassen shrugged.

"A long time coming I know, but yes."

Zarina wasn't finished though. She pretended to sniffle and wipe at her eyes dramatically.

"_You know, you dream of days like this, but you never actually think they'll come…Yassen Gregorovich finally swallowing his own pride to admit he was wrong…"_

Yassen looked at her in annoyance.

"Perhaps I'd find it a lot easier to do so if I wasn't always greeted with a reaction like this."

Zarina suddenly dropped her charade and shot Yassen a wry expression.

"_Maybe you wouldn't always be greeted with a reaction like mine if you swallowed your pride more often?"_

Yassen just gave sighed in exasperation and gave up.

"There's no winning against people like you."

"_Exactly," _Zarina nodded cheerfully,_ "Because I'm impossible."_

Yassen reacted to her sudden cheer with a small, cautious smile and decided to test the waters as it were.

"Are you not angry with me anymore then?"

Zarina narrowed her eyes and frowned at him.

"_Of course I still am, you don't get off that easily! I'm just being mature and letting the issue be, like Alex wants. Understand me?"_

Yassen shrugged, he was smart enough to realise it was the best he was going to get for now. Zarina noted his nonchalant response and her frown deepened.

"_You know, you're not the only one who's impossible" _She conversed before leaving quietly through the door_._

* * *

_He was running through a strange city from a man who was sometimes Alan Blunt, sometimes Julian Schaeffer and sometimes Donati. He ran in terror, feet flying with a ghostly ease over the ground until Yassen appeared in front of him. Relieved, he stopped only to give a soundless yell of shock as Yassen lashed out at him. Alex fell to the ground, seeing the flash of a knife in Yassen's hand as he did so. Alex hit the ground and-_

Alex's eyes flew open and he woke with a strangled gasp. Drips of cold sweat trickled down his forehead, but Alex wiped them away with the back of his hand without a second thought. For a long moment, he stayed lying limply on his bed, trying to will his heart into a slower rhythm.

Eventually, Alex warily sat up and looked around; trying to figure out what had awoken him. After awhile, he realised it was no one thing, it was just the total of all his injuries, both emotional and physical. Everything just _hurt_. From his split lip (his grimace caused it to reopen and begin to bleed slightly) to his lingering shock and terror after Yassen hitting him, Alex felt like his whole persona was a giant ache.

Wincing, he pushed himself to his feet. Not sure what he had in mind, Alex shambled into his bathroom. It seemed to him that every time so far that he'd faced a problem, he'd retreated to this cool, cavernous room like a hunted fox returns to its earth. With a faint smile at the thought, Alex climbed into his shower and sat on the granite bench. He leaned back, trying to fall back to sleep. He didn't really care that it was probably not very bright falling asleep sitting upright in a shower. All that was important was just ignoring everything that hurt for a few hours. It didn't seem like such an unreasonable request to him…

* * *

Alex wasn't certain, but he thought it was the sound of cursing that woke him up again in the morning. Blearily rubbing his face with the back of his uninjured hand, he listened.

"_Govniuk!" _

Alex frowned vaguely, aware that Yassen was swearing in Russian. Why he was doing so was another matter all together. Alex got to his feet gingerly, wincing at the way both his knees popped at the same time. His feet were freezing and had pins and needles after sleeping in his shower, so it took Alex a couple of steps to get is balance quite right. Carefully, he walked out into the kitchen where he could hear Yassen still swearing under his breath.

"What's wrong?" he yawned, noticing suddenly that the kitchen smelled like smoke, "What did you set on fire?"

"Nothing!" Yassen replied, a little defensively, "I'm making pancakes again, but I spilt some oil on the stove. _Bliad'_!" He swore once more as he scraped at a lump of dried up pancake mixture with a spatula. The entire image was so ridiculous; the only thing Alex felt like he could do was laugh.

"Yes, it's highly amusing," Yassen growled sarcastically, "I have a horrible migraine and nearly set the stove on fire, so it's absolutely hilarious. You can be such a brat sometimes."

Alex raised a brow and shot Yassen a smug look.

"You have to be nice to me!" He said conceitedly, "Because you hit me. So if I want to laugh at you, I will and you can't tell me to piss off."

Yassen winced at the reminder of his mistake the previous night.

"You said you wanted to forget what happened," He said, sounding slightly sour, "Using me hitting you as a reason for me to be nice to you does not count as 'forgetting what happened'."

Alex noted the expression on Yassen's face and looked guilty.

"Alright, fine." He muttered, "No nastiness on my part."

Yassen just shook his head and muttered something not at all nice sounding in Russian. Alex frowned at him.

"You know," He said, mildly irritated, "You won't be able to mutter about me once you've started teaching me Russian. I'll know what you're saying!"

Yassen smiled despite his bad mood.

"I doubt it. I won't be teaching you the sort of Russian I speak and trust me; you only really know some of the things I do when you grow up on the streets. You won't have the benefit of that."

Alex rolled his eyes and watched Yassen go back to cooking. He noticed that there wasn't a lot of food out.

"Not eating again?"

Yassen shot Alex a warning look.

"Yes. I'm not hungry." He said in a strictly dead-end tone, passing Alex a plate of pancakes.

"No, of course not." Alex muttered, taking the plate and sitting down. "What are we doing today?"

"_You_ are going to start training." Yassen said pointedly, sitting in front of his laptop. Alex scowled at him.

"_We're_ supposed to be resting." Alex retorted, his fork hovering between his plate and mouth. "That doctor said so!"

"Well, isn't it a pity I've decided otherwise?" Yassen said, "Since that's exactly _not_ what we're going to be doing."

Slightly put out, Alex jammed his pancake-laden fork into his mouth and chewed sourly.

"Fine," He growled around a mouthful of food, "What did you have in mind?"

"Since you've already managed to make a couple of enemies here, namely Amil and Jun, I was thinking that starting off with some self-defence and escape exercises might be a good idea." Yassen said placidly, "I'm emailing Chris now, telling him about my plans."

Alex finished his breakfast quickly, silently mulling it over. Once his plate was empty, he pushed it away and sighed.

"Why do I get the feeling that today's lesson is going to come in useful?"

Yassen suddenly shut his laptop and gave Alex a slightly unnerving smile.

"That would be because for some reason, you tend to bring out people's homicidal tendencies."

Alex returned Yassen's smile weakly, feeling nothing good was coming his way.

"Must be my charming personality."

* * *

"Shit…"

"Language Alex."

Alex winced at being caught out, but shot Yassen a defiant look nevertheless.

"Yes, but still…This is amazing."

They were standing in one of the massive warehouse buildings that dominated the camp. The interior, to Alex's shock, was a mock-up of a city, complete with abandoned cars and fully useable buildings. The entire thing stretched on for as far as Alex could see.

"It was supposed to be a scale model of Tunis," Yassen said carelessly, dropping a sport's bag he'd been carrying on the ground, "But it's been modified and renovated so many times that it's like no city on Earth anymore. Believe it or not, it only took three months to construct."

Alex nodded slowly and absorbed it all through widened eyes.

"So what am I doing in here?"

The unnerving smile Yassen had given in the apartment was back suddenly. It gave Alex a distinctly bad feeling.

"It's simple: I'm someone who would like to kill you. You're trying to avoid that happening. You have a head start, the length of which I'll play by ear. Then, I come after you and trust me; it won't be pleasant if I find you."

Alex squirmed uneasily and looked at the bag at Yassen's feet.

"What's that for?"

Yassen's smile grew as he unzipped the bag. He passed Alex a semi-automatic handgun that Alex wasn't familiar with. Inwardly beginning to panic a little, Alex looked at the gun in his hand.

"What is this?"

Yassen took the gun from Alex and held it so that Alex could look at it from all angles.

"This, Alex, is a semi-automatic Smith and Wesson Military and Police pistol. It's a US manufactured weapon and has a magazine capacity of seventeen 9mm rounds."

Alex took the gun back, feeling nauseous suddenly.

"We're using real weapons?"

Yassen reached into the bag and produced his own gun.

"Yes," he replied bluntly, "But don't worry, we're using simunition. That means instead of purposely lethal rounds, your pistol will fire polymer projectiles."

Alex sighed in relief and Yassen shook his head.

"Don't let that fool you," He said sternly, "We're using a CQT system here, Close Quarters Target Ammunition. They're not mean to be fired at personnel because they still have the capability of to be lethal; the only reason that I would even dare to use something so dangerous this early in your training is because the rounds are modified for lower penetration and besides, you already have some knowledge in firearms. I'm sure you know how much it'll hurt to get shot by this stuff, and I'm sure you'll be extremely careful accordingly."

Alex nodded fervently, eyeing the gun in Yassen's hand with no small amount of trepidation.

"Is there a points system?" He asked, "Like, first person to thirty hits wins or something?"

Yassen sighed and holstered his weapon.

"Alex, you're missing the whole point to this," He said, "This is not about winning, it's about survival. If this was a real-life situation, it wouldn't be about points, because in real life, even just one hit would probably be the end of you. In this exercise, your objective is to avoid being hit lethally, or at least demonstrate the ability to withstand injury. Understand now?"

"Yeah," Alex said, aware that his voice was betraying his nervousness, "Anything else I need to know?"

"Yes. Headshots are not allowed," Yassen said quickly, "This is meant to be realistic, but not to the point where someone gets killed. Also, I won't be giving any warning that your head start has finished, you'll need to remain alert at all times. On top of that, you are to keep moving at all times, there's no blockading yourself into a building. The exercise will continue until I say so."

Alex nodded again, feeling like a bobble-head. For a long minute, silence stretched between the pair. Then, Yassen raised a brow and looked at Alex.

"By the way Alex…"

"Yes?"

Yassen smiled nastily.

"I've started your countdown."

* * *

Half an hour later and Alex still hadn't seen or heard from Yassen. He was sure that his head start must be over, but at the same time, the overwhelming silence proved contradictory. The hush was unnerving, terrifying; Alex felt like his own breathing and heartbeat were deafening.

He'd been moving at as slow a pace as he dared, considering what was behind him. He wanted desperately to bolt like a maniac through the quiet city, but logic told him that the faster he went the more noise he would make. Besides, for all he knew, there were booby-traps everywhere, and if he went too fast, he'd end up dangling upside down from a rope or something equally humiliating. Alex got the feeling that Yassen would take great joy in shooting him in that position.

Slowly creeping down a narrow lane between two sandstone apartment blocks, Alex suddenly froze. He swore he'd just heard something faintly. Like fabric rustling against concrete, or something similar. Abruptly and overpoweringly paranoid, Alex spun around, weapon drawn. There was nothing behind him or in front of him, but Alex quickly crouched down behind a rusted dumpster.

Taking a moment, to calm himself down, Alex slowly peered around the edge of the dumpster. He could see that the alley he was travelling along opened out onto a main street. There were two cars, left parked haphazardly in the middle of the road. Even from where he was, Alex could see everything was coated in a layer of dust. He strained his eyes, trying to see if any of the dust had been disturbed, signifying that someone had passed by recently.

There was nothing. There were no further sounds, and the silence stretched on agonisingly. Alex began to wonder if he'd imagined the sound; if the noise had just been a phantom thrown up by his fearful mind. It certainly seemed that way.

Alex shook himself. Whatever the case, he couldn't stay here. He was supposed to keep moving and besides, he would end up psyching himself out if he stayed here much longer. Warily, he stood up again and inched out from behind his dumpster. Before leaving the relative shelter of the alleyway, he scanned the main street. He worried briefly about a collapsed office building fifty metres down the road, but decided in the end there was nothing he could do about it. He definitely couldn't go back the way he'd come; forward was the only choice.

* * *

Yassen was sorely tempted to shoot Alex as soon as he'd spotted him creeping down the alley. However, as he watched the boy, he had a better, and in all honesty, nastier idea. Purposely, Yassen dragged the sports bag against the wall of the building he was next to. Technically, carrying the bag full of ammunition gave him an unfair advantage, but that was life for you: the enemy generally ended up having better resources in situations such as this.

The noise of the fabric rasping against the wall echoed around the silent city vaguely. As soon as he heard it, Alex took cover behind a dumpster. From the opposite side of the street, Yassen acted quickly. He knew that Alex would be looking for cover in the main street, he would be led in this general direction. Keeping low and hidden, Yassen pulled a small device from his bag. It looked somewhat similar to a M18A1 Claymore Antipersonnel Mine, but instead of firing shrapnel that would prove lethal, it worked like a flash bang. As soon as Alex was close enough, Yassen would remote detonate the device. Alex would be hit by the usual 'flash' and 'bang', but also by the tear gas that the device had been modified to contain. Yassen crept into the main street and placed the device near the car, using the vehicle itself as cover. Alex would almost certainly use the car as cover as he crossed the street.

Blinded, deaf and doubtlessly in pain, Alex would stagger around whilst Yassen would hit him with a few educational shots. All in the name of training of course. Grinning to himself, Yassen quickly dug the spikes on the bottom of the device into the ground and hurriedly used his shoe to scuff a thin layer of dirt and sand over it. Once that was done, he quickly left the scene, careful to stay hidden the entire time.

Even though Alex was looking straight at him more or less, he saw nothing.

* * *

Despite his decision that forward was the only choice he had, Alex was unsure as he moved into the street. He was painfully aware of how visible he was, just standing there. Looking at his surroundings, Alex decided that the nearest abandoned car would make good cover.

* * *

Yassen watched Alex from his position amongst the rubble of the ruined building with mixed feelings. He was satisfied that his theory that Alex using the car as cover was proving itself true, but he was also appalled by Alex's actions.

'_You never go for the best position of cover; it's always the most obvious! Surely logic says that the car is going to be rigged with explosives or some other device? Didn't he learn anything in the Brecon Beacons?!'_

As if suddenly coming to the same realisation, Alex abruptly stopped halfway across the street. Obviously aware of how visible he was, he had the good sense to crouch down to make a smaller target at least. Alex took two or three tiny steps closer to the car, eyeing it with evident suspicion. Despite his relief that Alex wasn't as uneducated as he'd thought, Yassen was a little disappointed. He'd quite liked his idea for an ambush.

As Yassen continued to watch, he realised that Alex was probably close enough that the device would still be moderately effective. He'd have to act quickly though, Alex's suspicion was growing; it's only be seconds before he fled the scene. Never taking his eyes off of Alex, Yassen took the remote detonator from the Velcro patch that stuck it to his vest and pressed the button.

* * *

Alex was just about to turn away from the vehicle when he noticed something sitting half covered in dust, about a metre away from the car and five and a half metres from him. A quick glance at it turned Alex's blood to ice. He recognised it straight away as a sort of mine; he'd used them often enough in games like Call of Duty 4. Terrified, Alex looked up at the ruined building down the street and suddenly saw Yassen on the dilapidated second storey, something in hand.

"Oh sh-"

The rest of Alex's curse was lost in the roar of the explosion.

* * *

Yassen was surprised by how quickly Alex reacted. As soon as the teen had seen him, he'd thrown himself away as hard as he could and shut his eyes and put his hands to his ears. Whilst he was still hit by the flash-bang, his fast reactions ensured that he preserved enough of his sight and hearing to be able to escape.

As if to prove this point, Alex was on his feet quickly and running. However, he didn't have it all his way; he hadn't known about the tear gas. As soon as he opened his eyes, the gas clinging to his clothing and body began to sting. Giving a muffled yelp, Alex was suddenly trying to see his way through the burning haze that had become his vision. He used his free hand to try and wipe his face clean desperately.

Regardless, Alex knew Yassen was probably only seconds behind. Gritting his teeth, he kept sprinting, trying not to stick to a straight line. It was impossible though, he just couldn't see where he was going. His feet tangled up together, and he toppled over. Hitting the ground hard, his gun flew out of his grip and dust flew up into his eyes, making them worse. Alex moaned and scrabbled around blindly for his pistol.

Then, just as he got his hands on it, there was a crack and something hit him in the right shoulder. Alex knew straight away from the pain that he'd been hit by one of the polymer projectiles. Yassen may have been right about the rounds being modified for lower penetration, but that was no comfort to him; his shoulder felt like it had been hit by a hammer, he could feel the impact as a red-hot, agonising bullseye, with the worst in the area of immediate impact and the rest stretching into his arm and back.

Acting purely out of terror and pain, Alex rolled to the left onto his back. Ignoring the pain of putting pressure on his shoulder, Alex did his best to peer through his stinging eyes at Yassen who was approaching quickly from down the street, obviously intending to finish him off. Barely bothering to aim, Alex fired at least half of his gun's magazine at the Russian.

To him amazement, Yassen gave an agonised shout in Russian as one of the rounds found its mark. Alex didn't have long to gloat though, he started to scream as another round hit him in the stomach. He curled up into a ball, simultaneously trying to protect himself and ease the pain of his new injury.

After a few minutes, the pain subsided just enough for Alex to uncurl himself. Shaking from adrenalin and pain, he looked around for Yassen. He found the Russian four metres away, crouching over and looking very white. His pistol was sitting discarded next to him. Scared, Alex edged closer. The motion brought new tears to his eyes, but he ignored that.

"Are you alright?" Alex asked.

Yassen shook his head grimly, using one arm to prop himself up against the ground. His other arm was pressed against his chest. Alex realised with a burst of dismay that when he'd managed to get one hit on Yassen, he'd hit the Russian in the chest. Considering the previous damage done there, Alex was lucky he hadn't killed Yassen outright.

"Oh Jesus!" Alex gasped, "I didn't realise! How bad is it?"

Yassen shakily sat back against the street's kerb, legs stretched out in front of him. Coughing and with flecks of blood on his lips, Yassen peeled his shirt off, clenching his eyes shut briefly at the pain. About two and a half inches down from the Russian's old gunshot scar was a large weal, surrounded by a flower of stomach-churning red and purple bruising. In the centre of the flower, the skin had just been broken.

Alex swore under his breath and looked up at Yassen's face.

"Bad then."

Yassen nodded weakly, his breathing sounding shallow and raspy.

"I can…f-feel at least one b-broken rib," He gasped, "M-maybe m-more…"

Alex tried not to panic, but it was hard. He knew that even though he hadn't killed Yassen outright, there was every chance the Russian could still die if multiple ribs had been broken in more then one place.

"What do I do?"

Yassen used his head to gesture to the sports bag he'd been carrying.

"Use the w-walkie-talkie to call for…help."

Alex did so immediately, digging through the spare magazines to the bottom of the bag where the walkie-talkie was. He turned it on and held down the talk button.

"Hello?"

The response was crackly, but fast.

"Is that you Gregorovich?"

"No, it's Alex Rider." Alex didn't waste time bothering with formalities, "Yassen's injured badly. He needs immediate medical assistance."

"Okay, there's a medical team on its way. There's cameras providing the team with your position, I'm looking at the footage of what happened now. Just stay calm, alright?" Whoever was on the other walkie-talkie sounded professional and calm.

"Um, okay." Alex looked over at Yassen. The Russian was still conscious, but he had his eyes closed and he was still having trouble breathing. "I think Yassen has at least two broken ribs, I can hear his breathing and it sounds really bad."

"Like I said, the medical team is on its way. Just stay calm."

"Screw you." Alex muttered before tossing the small machine aside. Injured stomach and shoulder still screaming in pain, he crawled back to Yassen.

"I dunno if you heard, but help's coming." He said tensely, "Is there anything else I need to do?"

Yassen shook his head.

"No."

Grimacing, Alex managed to sit himself up. After a moment's silence, he heard Yassen speak again. He sounded worse then ever.

"B-by the way Alex… You're dead…Once I'm p-patched up."

* * *

The medical team arrived quickly, but Yassen had still passed out by the time they got there. There wasn't much they could do onsite; Alex just watched as they carried Yassen off to the clinic. One of the medics stayed behind and turned to Alex.

"Are you alright?" The medic was a stout, muscled man with black hair and dark eyes. "You were hit too, weren't you?"

Alex shrugged with his uninjured shoulder. His other one was throbbing, the arm below it hanging limply.

"It's fine; it was just my shoulder and stomach. Is Yassen going to be alright?"

"He should be fine," The medic said dismissively, eyes focused on Alex's face, "Are you sure you're alright?"

Alex frowned in bewilderment. There was something insistent in the medic's voice.

"Yeah…Why?"

The medic just shook his head with a mysteriously grim expression on his face.

"Come on, you need to talk to Chris and he's not going to be happy." Was all he said.

* * *

**Uh-oh, looks like both of them are in trouble... **

**But anyway, here are my questions for this chappie...**

**1.) What do you think the medic was focussing on when he was talking to Alex? **

**2.) Did the training exercise sound realistic? **

**3.) Alex's first therapy session is coming up...Do you guys think he'll be more cooperative then Yassen, or just as unwilling?**

**4.) Are there any songs you think would go well with the training scene, or even just the chapter in general?**

**5.) How do you think Yassen should get revenge on Alex for Alex injuring him like that?**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed it... I can't wait to hear from you guys!**


	13. Chapter Thirteen, Subtraction & Addition

**Chapter Thirteen, Subtraction and Addition**

**Yep, that's right, I'm back! Sorry, sorry, SORRY for the long wait, but my life has tumbled into a pit of poor motivation, homework, assignments, work and family shit... Anyway, this chapter's like, 30 MS Word pages long, so maybe that makes up for it a little bit??? -pleading expression-

* * *

  
**

_He felt the brutal, rib shattering impact of the bullet…He felt the knife-like pain of the shot tearing through his chest…fire spreading through his heart and lungs…Blood welling in his throat…Cray's voice somewhere above his head…_

Yassen was drifting between levels of consciousness, lost in the reminiscence of Air Force One. At times, he'd become deathly still, causing a minor panic amongst the doctors. Other times, he'd shout in Russian and thrash in his bed, unaware of his environment. In some ways, this scared the doctors more then the stillness; Yassen had fractured his sixth rib with the possibility of the seventh also suffering a hairline fracture. Any movement at this point could cause further damage; just simple breathing was enough trouble.

Even with the extensive medical resources, there wasn't a whole lot the clinic could do for Yassen; a fractured rib was hard to do _anything_ for. They were more or less reduced to keeping the pain under control with codeine. Using codeine also had the added bonus of acting as a cough suppressant, which saved Yassen some pain.

Apart from that though, Yassen was mostly left to himself and to his disturbing half-real memories.

* * *

The medic didn't say anything to Alex as he led the way from the training building to Chris' office. As they waked, Alex tried to think what was prompting such a reaction from the medic. Had he done something wrong? Alex pondered that through whilst the medic went in to talk to Chris briefly.

"He's waiting for you." The medic said, leaving the room. Alex watched the man go, uneasy suddenly before walking through the doors. The whole thing just felt bad, sort of like the time Jack had said they were going to the circus when in fact, she'd taken him to the dentist…

"I seem to be seeing a lot of you." Chris remarked from behind his desk, not looking up from the paperwork in front of him. "Why is that I wonder?"

"You're just lucky I guess." Alex replied, sitting in the chair in front of Chris' desk.

Chris looked up and a sudden burst of surprise showed on his face. Alex frowned at him vaguely.

"What?"

Chris shook his head to himself before starting to ask questions.

"So what happened?" He asked, "I'm having a quiet day, the first one in awhile I'll add, when suddenly I get an urgent report saying Yassen's seriously injured, maybe even fatally because of a training exercise."

"Fatally?!" Alex gaped, "What?"

Chris held his hands up calmingly.

"He's fine now, but considering that he had ribs broken before when he was shot, an injury like this is hardly ideal. Never mind that though, just answer the question."

"Um, we were doing an exercise," Alex replied, trying to piece his words together to form coherent sentences. It was extremely difficult considering his racing thoughts and worry for Yassen, "We were using polymer rounds and Yassen got me twice. I got him once, firing blindly. It turned out I hit him in the chest."

Chris nodded, slowly absorbing the details of the story. Thinking for a minute or two and tapping a pen against the desk, Chris eventually sighed and seemed to relax a little.

"Okay, makes sense." He said, "Its bad form on your part to go firing madly with such dangerous ammunition, but hey, you're young and still learning. Besides, I know how much those things hurt; I'm not surprised by how you reacted. How are you feeling now?"

"Fine." Alex replied. He was wondering why everyone was so caught up on his welfare when Yassen was the one who could have been killed. He felt so guilty, he was amazed no one had tried to punish him or anything yet.

"Really?" Chris demanded. Alex frowned at the man. He hated questions that he couldn't see the reasoning behind.

"Yeah," He replied, slightly annoyed, "Why?"

Chris shook his head and leant back in his chair.

"Alex, do you want to tell me how your face ended up looking like that?"

Alex froze, heart racing suddenly. Suddenly, everyone's weird reactions made sense. He felt stupid for not thinking of this before. He wished he had a brilliant plan on hand for dealing with this.

"Like what?" He asked warily, trying to look Chris in the eye. His act wasn't very convincing. He couldn't lie properly to Chris, the man was just too… Well, he reminded Alex of an eagle, the way his eyes seemed to pierce him and miss nothing.

"Alex, your face is half bruise." Chris said in a tone that brooked no argument, "Someone's hit you; I'd like to know who. I understand that fights happen, but I don't want any of my trainees deciding they can go beat on you just because you're younger then them. So who hit you?"

Alex swallowed nervously and shook his head.

"No one!" He insisted, "I slipped over and hit my face on a door."

Chris actually growled in exasperation. It made Alex wince; the man was kind enough to him, but when he was angry or upset, that was lost in his sheer physical menace.

"Alex! Stop being stupid!"

"I'm not!" Alex replied, injecting what he thought was a convincing note or irritation into his voice, "As if I'd make this up! Falling over is the worst excuse in the world, I'm brighter then hiding behind something like that!"

"Or maybe," Chris grunted, something very astute glinting in his eyes, "You're using reverse psychology to lie through your teeth. Just hurry up and tell me which idiot hit you. If you can't tell me, I'll ask Yassen or even Zarina."

"No!" Alex gasped out his horror before he could stop himself. Chris looked at him in mild consternation. A small wrinkle of worry had appeared over his brow.

"Um, I mean, don't." Alex amended weakly, mentally kicking himself as hard as he could, "There's no need for that?"

Chris said nothing for a long moment, staring at Alex with unnerving, green eyes. Eventually, he shook his head and ran his hands through his hair stressfully.

"Oh Christ kid," he said balefully, "You just ruined my day."

"Sorry?" Alex attempted, "How did I do that?"

Chris shook his head again, lips pressed together in a grim line.

"I just figured it out," he replied, "It's not some random trainee with too much testosterone who whacked you. It's either Zarina or Yassen and quite frankly, I do _not_ see Zarina hitting any kid, especially not you."

Alex's mouth suddenly seemed very dry, he shook his head frantically. His hair, which he'd allowed to become a little shaggy in the last couple of weeks, flopped around in its sweaty strands. He felt utterly cornered, like a rat or hare chased by the hounds.

"N-no!" He said in slight desperation, "That's not right! It was…"

"Yes?" Chris interrupted in polite disbelief, "It was who?"

"Um, no one." Alex knew he couldn't possibly keep this ridiculous charade up, but he tried anyway, "Like I said, I slipped over."'

Chris Drummond looked like he wanted to squash Alex's head in out of sheer exasperation. Noting the man's broad chest and thick arms, Alex figured that was a distinct possibility. Besides, with the resources Scorpia had, it wouldn't take that much to get the office cleaned again.

"Alex!" Chris was almost shouting now, "Stop it! I know it was Yassen who hit you, it's obvious! Even the medic figured as much! Just stop defending him!"

Alex opened his mouth to reply, but shut it without saying anything. He shot Chris a blazing look before shaking his head and looking down. Chris frowned at him and folded his arms across his chest.

"You were going to say something?"

Alex shrugged and looked up at Chris again.

"I was going to say I don't care what you say; I know that Yassen deserves to be defended, he never meant to hurt me. I know that doesn't change the fact he did, but isn't the intent what counts? I know Yassen never intended to lose his temper."

Chris gave a half irritated, half weary groan and rubbed the side of his face.

"Well, like you said, it doesn't change the fact that he did. Now tell me, what am I meant to do about this?"

Alex tried to look as stern as he could.

"Nothing. Both of us were to fault, both of us had been drinking and Yassen is punishing himself as it is. Not to mention Zarina just about killed him herself when she found out. Yassen is lucky to have everything still firmly attached considering how angry Zarina was."

Chris' lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

"I can imagine. Zarina can be quite…scary when she wants to be. She put a young male trainee in the clinic for a month when he groped her in karate. Even when he got out of the clinic, he had to undergo physical therapy for a year afterward."

"Yeah." Alex wasn't sure what else to say. "So please don't make things worse."

"Alright, here's my compromise," Chris replied after a split-second's deliberation, "I'm not going to try and take you away from Yassen or anything. We both know the man's going through a lot of shit and if both of you were drunk, then maybe it casts things into a slightly different light. However, and this is an important however, I'm still going to have a word with Yassen once he's up for a good long conversation."

Alex nodded dully, wondering if he'd made things worse or better then they'd been before. He was too tired and still too pumped on adrenalin to be able to tell.

"Is that all?" He asked after a long minute of silence, "Can I see Yassen now?"

Chris sighed and shook his head.

"Alex, you should know Yassen won't be in any state to talk to anyone for a little while. I mean, you've cracked a rib before, haven't you?"

Alex realised he had.

"Yeah, when Cray shot me," he replied, "I was wearing a bullet-proof jersey, but it still cracked one of my ribs."

"Well then you'll know how painful it is to even just breathe," Chris said in a kind, but firm voice, "Let alone speak. Just give him a day or two to get himself together and let the pain meds kick in."

"Yeah," Alex said distractedly, getting to his feet. He headed towards the door. "I'll do that." He said over his shoulder as left the room. Chris watched him go, shaking his head to himself.

* * *

"This is an unacceptable lapse in procedure and security!" Inspector Atkins was livid, as his red flushed face attested, "You secretly met with _Yassen Gregorovich_, and didn't think to mention it for something like five _fucking days_?!"

Fred coughed slightly, almost inadvertently and Atkins rounded on him.

"You have something to say?" He demanded, thinning moustache wiggling under his nose comically. Fred didn't laugh though; he didn't really want to set his boss off. He was too indignant to laugh anyway; he was the one who'd dropped a hint that Julian was up to no good.

"Um, I was just going to say that technically it was closer to four days…"

Atkins looked like he was going to quite literally bite Fred's head off for a moment and Julian shot him a smug look. He knew he was in serious trouble, but if he had to go down, he'd at least take Fred down with him. Served the bastard right for telling on him in the first place. Atkins caught the look however and turned back to him with an almost demented look in his eye.

"Don't you dare grin, Julian!" He snapped, "I haven't even started on you yet! Now would you please explain what the hell you were doing, meeting Yassen Gregorovich?! More importantly, why the hell wasn't anyone else notified and why isn't the bastard rotting in gaol?!"

Julian licked his lips, trying desperately to figure out how much he could spill to Inspector Atkins without giving his entire plan away. He hadn't told Fred enough for the stupid idiot to be able to ruin everything for him.

"I was with a MISO contact of mine," He said warily, "I wasn't aware I was going to come in close contact with Gregorovich…I was never informed of all the details."

Julian had worked his words to contain just the right ring of truth. Besides, it was common knowledge to both Julian and Atkins how dodgy Intelligence was when it came to keeping people in the loop. Fred shot him an incredulous look whilst Atkins considered it all.

"Who's the source?" He demanded, eyes narrowed as if that would help him catch any signs of duplicity. Julian looked him in the eye.

"You know I can't tell you that." He said firmly, "The source was not even meant to be here, I jeopardise their career by selling them out to anyway without a level 3 Intel clearance. I know all this sounds extremely irresponsible on my part, but I'm afraid my loyalty to my friends… my _real_ friends," He said pointedly, glaring at Fred, "Comes first."

Inspector Atkins was fooled by the calm certainty in Julian's voice. He sighed and scratched his moustache idly.

"Alright, I can understand that," He said grudgingly, "I have MISO friends, I know what all their secrecy shit is like…I'm still not happy about it, but I don't see what I can do to fix it. Spilt milk and all that."

"Sir," Julian thought he'd better try and earn a little trust with the boss, "In all fairness, I did try to catch the bastard…My source aroused my suspicions, so I took the liberty of bringing one of our tracking devices. The ones usually used for cars?"

"I know what you're talking about," Atkins grunted, "Go on?"

"Well, I managed to plant it on some of Gregorovich's personal property…"

* * *

_After managing to get Alex to stay in his room, Yassen turned to Donati. Quick as a flash, Julian used the fact that the Russian's back was turned to his advantage. He produced the tracking 'dot' from his pocket and slipped into the pocket of a jacket sitting on the back of a nearby chair. He figured it wasn't Donati's because it looked about two sizes too small for the Portuguese man's bulky frame…

* * *

  
_

Atkins' expression brightened immediately.

"And?"

Julian bit his bottom lip, carefully making himself the picture of 'humble'. He wanted Atkins to think that he was in control here.

"Well, it worked fairly well for awhile. However, it stopped working after it left British networks…"

"So you're saying that Gregorovich has left the UK?"

"Gregorovich and Alex Rider," Julian nodded, "The signal gave one last weak flicker nearing continental Europe when it came within close proximity to a British network set up on a Navy ship. I suspect they're heading to France; Yassen spoke to Alex in French when I was there."

"I don't understand!" Atkins growled, "How did they manage to get through airport security?!"

"Well, I managed to get some special research privileges off of my MISO source," Julian admitted, "So I looked into Yassen's contacts, both confirmed and suspected… It turned up some interesting results."

Julian paused here in order to walk over to his desk and pick up a small pile of freshly printed papers. Atkins walked over as well and watched as Julian began flicking through them.

"Here," Julian said, pointing to a certain paragraph following a vague black and white photo of a teenage Yassen. "Intel suggests that Yassen Gregorovich aged fifteen and a half leaves Moscow. It's not explained how, but they draw the conclusion someone with the financial means pointed him in the direction of Scorpia. You have read the latest reports on Scorpia, right?"

Atkins just shot Julian an indignantly irritated look. Julian coughed nervously and continued on his narrative.

"Well, I looked into this… I found that this 'helper' was no casual wealthy Russian with some dodgy contacts…It seems Yassen was helped by a 'Vladimir Andrii', who was at the time, an up and coming mafiya worker. More interestingly, several accounts mention that this 'Vladimir' was at the time searching for someone of exactly Yassen's physical and historical description."

By this stage, Fred had slunk off, realising his opportunity to get the advantage over Julian was well and truly gone. Atkins had a look of dawning realisation of his features.

"They're family!" He breathed, "Somehow this bastard stayed under the radar!"

"It wasn't hard," Julian said, "Vladimir's mother, Yassen's aunt, was hardly a person of notable standing… Aksinya was a prostitute; she ran away from home at the age of seventeen and was never seen by her family again. It seems she gave birth to Vladimir later on, after a brief fling with her strip club's owner…Interestingly, Aksinya's name means 'hospitable, especially so to strangers'."

Atkins couldn't help but grin briefly at that small irony. After a minute though, the smile faded away as he considered what Julian had just told him.

"So MI6 or whoever never knew about Vladimir for sure because his mother was such a complete nobody," he said slowly, testing the theory out, "But they drew the conclusion that Yassen stayed in contact with Vladimir, albeit infrequently. So, how does that connect with Yassen and Rider getting out of the UK without tripping airport security?"

Julian gave Atkins his best smile. It admittedly wasn't the most wonderful sight; Julian's teeth were slightly crooked and gave a faint hint of his penchant for strong coffee. Atkins just grimaced briefly before motioning for him to get on with it.

"Well, I turned my attention to Vladimir Andrii," Julian said, really enjoying sharing his investigation, "And found he has a more or less controlling interest in a very small charter company named 'Mediterranean Airlines'. More specifically, he has a close friend in one of their pilots, a woman by the name of 'Isabis Abuto', an African national. She deals arms for him. She also flew Yassen and Alex out of the UK on an off the books flight organised by Vladimir."

Atkins' grin came back, but it was bigger and more ferocious now.

"So we get Isabis…"

Julian nodded.

"We get Yassen and Alex."

* * *

Alex hadn't gone back to the apartment once he was finished talking to Chris. Instead, he'd walked to the clinic. It was the one building in the entire camp he knew for sure, as it only had one storey and was painted white. He was going to see Yassen, no matter what.

He knew that he couldn't go to the doctor; she'd kick him out straight away. So, Alex walked around the edge of the building, trying to stay hidden and watch for guards at the same time. Eventually, in a narrow gap between the clinic building and an admin building, he found a window looking into the main patient's area. Alex looked through.

From his distance, he couldn't see whether or not Yassen was awake. All he could see was the familiar blonde head and the even paler then usual skin. Taking a furtive look around, Alex ducked down to pick up a fair sized rock from the ground. Weighing it in one hand, he used his other to pull his shirt over his head. He then wrapped the rock in his shirt and used it to smash the window open. His shirt helped to muffle the sound.

Climbing through the now open window, Alex stooped to pick the rock up and quickly but quietly moved down to Yassen. No one appeared to stop him.

At first glance, Alex thought Yassen looked bad. His opinion didn't change at second or even third glances either. The Russian's eyes were closed; his face looked white and drawn. It was obvious from the expression on it that every breath hurt terribly. Then, to Alex's surprise, Yassen's eyes opened. They fixed on him with a vaguely disconcerted curiosity.

"Maybe it's the pain meds," The Russian said slowly, sounding simultaneously groggy and amused, "But you seem to be shirtless. It really makes me wonder if maybe I've made some incorrect assumptions about you and your… tendencies if you're going to insist on being bereft of some article of clothing whilst visiting me."

Alex blushed and quickly pulled his shirt back on.

"I used it to smother the noise of breaking the window!" He said defensively, "Otherwise the doctor or nurse would've heard!"

Yassen went to wave a hand dismissively at him, but the motion caused him to wince and let his hand drop back to the bed. He coughed feebly.

"I need more codeine already," Yassen muttered weakly to himself before turning back to Alex, "Don't worry, I knew that."

"You look like crap." Alex remarked. Yassen shot him an expression that suggested that he would be irate if it weren't for the fact that to be so required far too much energy.

"I wonder why?" Yassen rasped sarcastically, "Surely not because you managed to re-fracture one of my ribs?"

Alex grimaced and sat on the bed next to Yassen's. Luckily, there was no one else in the clinic.

"It was an accident," He replied, slightly put out, "Besides, you hit me twice. That has to make things even, doesn't it?"

"'Even' would be if I hit you where you were shot and you were injured as well," Yassen said dryly, "And oddly enough, the fact that putting me in the clinic was an 'accident' is no consolation. Never mind that though, why'd you come?"

Alex frowned, slightly hurt.

"You didn't want me to?"

Yassen shrugged.

"I don't mind either way. I'm just tired and in pain, I'm not able for a long conversation right now. I presumed you came for a specific reason?"

Alex bit his bottom lip and couldn't help the guilty expression that stole onto his face. Yassen's eyes narrowed.

"What happened?" The Russian demanded. Alex had to struggle for words for a minute.

"Chris asked about…" Alex trailed off, gesturing at his own face vaguely.

All emotion suddenly slipped away from Yassen's face and a cool, dead expression in his eyes was all that was left.

"He asked about your face." It was a statement, not a question. "You told him."

"I didn't want to!" Alex realised that in his nervousness, his voice was getting louder. He forced himself back under control. "I tried not to, but he said he'd go ask you or Zarina if I wouldn't tell him!"

Yassen didn't say anything, eyes fixed on Alex flatly. Alex felt another stab of fear.

"I'm sorry!" He muttered, trying not to look down at his own feet.

A tiny flicker of surprise and maybe even shame rippled across Yassen's face. That was an unusual display for the man. Surprise and shame were two emotions he'd made a habit of cheerfully ignoring.

"Why?" He asked, with a wince as he shifted, "Chris gave you no choice. I'm not angry."

"Oh." Alex was at a loss for words for a long moment. Eventually, he found his voice again. "How long are you going to be in here for?"

"I don't know." Yassen really did sound wrecked. Alex could hear the pain in the Russian's voice, no matter how muted it was. "Probably just until I can move without injuring myself further. After that, I can continue healing on my own. Will you be alright on your own until then?"

"Yeah." Alex thought that Yassen probably didn't need to know how bad he was at cooking. He'd just go down to the cafeteria to eat. No need for Yassen to come back and find the kitchen reduced to a burnt, blackened mess. "I'll be fine."

Yassen nodded and Alex saw the weariness in the Russian's face. He stood.

"I'll go."

"That's a good idea." Yassen said, "And by the way, you didn't need to smash the window; it slides open from both sides."

Alex cringed and left the clinic feeling like an idiot.

* * *

Mrs. Jones was engaging in a rare moment of relaxation. She was leaning back in her office chair, enjoying an unusual burst of warm sunlight that was pouring in through the window. Despite the nice sensation of the sunlight, she couldn't help but feel like it was corrupted somehow. She could only enjoy it through a bullet-proof glass pane.

And then her mobile phone rang, its bland tone shattering the moment. Mrs. Jones sighed inwardly and looked at the small machine sitting innocently on her desk. Slowly, almost sluggishly, she reached out and answered the call.

"Jones."

"Schaeffer, but like you said before, we're on a first name basis."

Despite the events of the past few days, a smile crept onto Mrs. Jones' lips. Julian always made her happy.

"Oh, Julian. I wasn't expecting you. Business or pleasure call this time?"

"Business I'm afraid."

Immediately, Mrs. Jones heard the seriousness in Julian's voice. Business between the two of them meant only one thing, Alex Rider. She wasn't supposed to be involved with him anymore; Blunt wanted him dead and had removed her from the assignment because of the 'excessive liking' she'd had for him.

"Julian," She said quickly, eyes automatically flying up to the camera in the top corner of her office, "Do you remember my old number…the personal one from when we were dating?"

"I…What's…Yeah?"

"Good." Mrs. Jones said before hanging up. She wasn't positive, but she got the feeling that Blunt had had her work number tapped. He didn't know about the number she'd had set up for Julian though. She'd been paranoid enough about their relationship to arrange that number in as secure a manner as possible too.

Mrs. Jones didn't have long to wait; her phone began to ring again. Caller ID showed it was Julian again. Mrs. Jones picked up quickly.

"Alright, this has to be fast," She said straight off the bat, "I don't know what level surveillance is on me."

"Okay, here it is: Holloway Road Tube Station ASAP, bring a sidearm. That fast enough for you?"

Mrs. Jones grinned and opened her mouth to reply, only to hear the dead line tone buzzing in her ear. Her grin became and a frown and she hung up as well. It must be something big then.

* * *

"What makes you so sure that grabbing Isabis is going to lead us to Alex and Yassen?" Mrs. Jones was forever the voice of scepticism. Whilst situations such as this, where things could be dangerous, certainly warranted a non-partisan approach, Mrs. Jones' negativity was proving an irritation.

Julian grimaced and wished suddenly he had a cigarette with him. He'd been trying to give smokes up for a year now, with mixed results. Stressful moments like this were what inevitably pushed him back into nicotine's addictive embrace.

"Because," he said, inadvertently drawing the word out in an effort to sound calmer then he felt, "She was most likely the last person to see the pair of them on British soil, not counting Vladimir of course. I doubt you want to try and take him down?"

Julian had already told Mrs. Jones about Vladimir. She knew that firstly, it would be near impossible to find Vladimir anyway, and secondly, if they tried anything funny with the Russian gangster, they'd most likely find a thug armed with a machine gun waiting for them at home or in the street, ready to make an example out of them. Vladimir had never taken to being threatened well; he tended to respond in the most lethal manner he knew how. He was the inspiration for the term 'trigger happy'.

"No." Mrs. Jones was silent for a long moment after that. She sat in the front passenger seat of Julian's car, a little miffed that whilst she'd had to Tube it from work, he'd casually driven over in the relative comfort of his own vehicle. The only part of Julian's car's presence she didn't object to was the fact that it's tinted windows provided them with the privacy they needed to do a weapons check.

"What is that?" Julian queried, checking the replacement weapon he'd obtained from work after losing his first one to Yassen, "I've never seen anything like that before."

Mrs. Jones raised a brow and held the gun up for display.

"It's a Zamorana pistol," she replied, running her thumb along the barrel idly, "A little souvenir I picked up from a visit to Venezuela. Are you good to go now?"

Julian nodded and slid the gun into the holster he was wearing underneath his blue and black nylon anorak.

"Let's get this over and done with."

* * *

Mrs. Jones was struck by how ridiculously easy the whole thing was proving to be. They simply walked up to the front door, used a key that Julian had had produced earlier on for this exact purpose and let themselves right into the compact two storey townhouse.

"Alright, let's take a look around;" Julian said quietly, "She shouldn't be home-"

At that moment, there was the immediately identifiable sound of a gunshot and a wooden staircase baluster near Julian head exploded into a cloud of sharp, wooden splinters. Both Mrs. Jones and Julian hit the ground, taking shelter behind the corner of a hallway leading to the kitchen.

"Shit!" Julian spat, wiping at a trail of blood that was cascading merrily over his left brow, "a piece of that fucking wood cut my head!"

Mrs. Jones looked at Julian anxiously for a moment, noting the bright crimson blood spattering from his forehead and knuckles to the ground. Then, she turned back to the job at hand.

"Isabis Abuto?" She called out, "MISO, London Branch. I'd like you to consider peaceful surrender!"

"Fuck you bitch!" Was the response that Mrs. Jones received from some point at the top of the staircase.

"Well, I'm obviously popular." Mrs. Jones muttered to herself before lunging out from behind cover. She hadn't used a firearm in near a year, but she had always been a good shot. She fired three times at the point where she'd heard the voice come from. Judging from the furiously pained shriek she heard, at least one of her shots had found their mark.

And then suddenly, the air around Mrs. Jones was full of bullets. Startled, Mrs. Jones didn't resist as Julian grabbed her by the arms and pulled her back behind cover. She thanked god she'd changed out of her heels, which would have made this whole thing a lot more difficult then it already way.

"I think she's upset!" Julian had to yell over the sound of the gunshots, "We need to get out of here fast; regular police will be here soon!"

Mrs. Jones was annoyed, of course they needed to get out of here fast, Blunt would have her head on a platter if he found out about her being here! What did Julian think she was doing?! Fuelled by annoyance, Mrs. Jones pulled a trick that really only had one definition. 'Suicidal'.

She dived out from behind cover and ran like hell up the staircase, firing wildly as she did so. Inwardly, she was ignoring the prospect of being shot and more absorbed the thought that if any of her agents had tried something like this, she would have shot them herself out of sheer exasperation. Oh well, desperate times and all that.

Isabis was sitting back against a wall, supporting a bleeding arm. Her gun was lying at her feet, quite obviously discarded. Mrs. Jones still approached with caution though; gun up and out, safety off. She was careful not to get too close.

"Don't bother," Isabis spat, malevolent eyes fixed hatefully on Mrs. Jones, "I ran out of ammo."

"Julian?" Mrs. Jones kept her pistol trained on Isabis, "A hand?"

"Two actually," Julian replied, appearing from behind her, set of handcuffs in hand. Whilst Mrs. Jones watched Isabis warily, he restrained her as quickly as possible. "Now I think it's time we buggered off out of here, don't you?"

* * *

"So what now?"

Julian inwardly groaned and resisted the urge to butt his head miserably against his steering wheel. He understood Mrs. Jones' liking for everything to be neatly planned out, but this was just getting on his nerves.

"Well, I was thinking now I take Isabis in for interrogation."

Mrs. Jones raised a brow and looked into the back seat, where Isabis was sprawled, unconscious. Considering the fact that she was handcuffed, it'd been a relatively straightforward matter of injecting the woman with a knock-out drug.

"I couldn't help but notice you were speaking in the singular there," Mrs. Jones remarked sharply, turning back to Julian, "I hope that was a mistake, because I have zero intention of leaving you unsupervised with Isabis."

"Your faith in me is truly astonishing to witness," Julian muttered nastily, "But I wouldn't worry about leaving me 'unsupervised' with the bitch…She's hardly my type."

To Julian's secret glee, a small blush flickered across Mrs. Jones' face.

"That's not what I meant," she replied, sounding a little flustered now, "I mean, I haven't forgotten what you have to gain out of exhorting Alex and Yassen; I'm staying with you at all times, just to make sure you don't get any crafty ideas that'll prove a pain to clean up later."

Julian was inwardly furious; Tulip had more or less caught on to what he was planning! Outwardly however, he remained calm. He had a plan for this. If he had to, he'd resort to less attractive options, but for now, he'd try for innocence.

"Tulip, I don't understand what you're talking-"

"_Don't_ lie to me!" Mrs. Jones cut in, eyes flashing dangerously. "I dated you Julian; I know what goes on in your head. I also know just how desperate you are for money at the moment. You just want any opportunity at the moment to have a little chat with Isabis. She gives you a number to contact Yassen or Alex on in exchange for legal impunity. Then, you call Yassen or Alex, blackmail them saying you'll spill their stories to the press and to every terrorist organisation you know of. In order to stop this, you'll demand money, lots of it. Once you've got your money, you'll just go to the media anyway and make more money…In the process, Yassen and Alex will most probably be killed by some two-bit thug who managed to get their hands on personal information on the two of them you gave to the media."

There was a long, choking silence. Julian didn't look away from the road, he didn't want Mrs. Jones to see the battling fury and hurt in his grey eyes. His hands betrayed his inner conflict though; his knuckles were clenched around the steering wheel so hard they'd gone white.

"You're not even going to defend yourself?" Mrs. Jones hissed. She wasn't normally so emotional, especially not with Julian, but the current situation was bringing out the worst in her. In Julian too it seemed.

"Why bother?" Julian's voice was low and even, but sad sounding nevertheless, "No one even cares if I do…I'm used to people assuming the worst of me anyway."

Mrs. Jones bit her lip and studied Julian subtly from the corner of her eye. He was nearly forty, but that wasn't really very old. However, the sadness and resignation in his eyes and face seemed to make him age by five years. Mrs. Jones wondered if maybe she'd been wrong about Julian, if maybe he wasn't as bad as she'd thought.

Eventually, Mrs. Jones decided that she had been wrong. Spending so long in MI6 had taught her to trust no one, now to her own detriment and to the price of her friend's. She sighed and shook her head.

"I'm sorry Julian," she said awkwardly, "I just didn't…I'm sorry."

Julian offered a small smile in return.

"It's alright, I don't blame you." He replied nicely, "Now, I know a place we can bring Isabis without having to explain to your and my people."

As they passed the rest of the journey in silence, Julian had to resist the urge to smile. Mrs. Jones had bought his act. Things might actually turn out alright for him after all.

* * *

Alex didn't want to admit it, but he felt really guilty about Yassen. Walking around the empty, silent apartment made him realise that even if they didn't always get along, they sort of needed each other. Or at least, Alex knew he needed Yassen. Truth be told, without him, he wasn't left with a lot.

"Well, this sucks." Alex muttered, just to create some sort of noise in the apartment. He walked aimlessly into the living room and flopped onto the couch. Immediately, he felt even more alone. With an annoyed growl, he got up again and walked into the kitchen. He figured he could try cooking. The ensuing kitchen fire would be good for entertainment and diversion at least.

Then Alex thought of Yassen again. He was pretty sure that the Russian would eat him if he came back and found a burnt up kitchen. The Russian was the mother of all neat-freaks, messing the apartment up would be tantamount to a death wish on Alex's part.

"So what now?"

Alex wasn't going insane, he didn't expect a response. And yet, the fact that no answer followed his question irked him. Frustrated, he ran his hands through his hair and looked around the apartment. He wasn't in the mood for a movie, and he doubted he'd have the attention span for a Playstation game.

"You know what, screw this." Alex muttered. He made a snap decision, picked up the key-card he'd need to access the apartment and walked out the front door.

* * *

"Where did you take Alex and Yassen?"

"I'm not telling you anything white boy!" Isabis spat past her bloodied mouth. As determined as he was, Julian hadn't like hitting a woman. Mrs. Jones on the other hand had seemed to be totally unaffected by the entire process, never once turning away or cringing.

"Yes you are!" Julian growled, trying not to look at his bloodstained knuckles. Isabis just leered at him from where she was handcuffed to a chair. The three of them (Isabis, Julian and Mrs. Jones) were in a Bermondsey warehouse owned by a man Julian knew. This man used the warehouse mostly to store the enormous amounts of cocaine he produced. In all actuality, neither the warehouse nor this man should have been here. The warehouse was an unusual survivor of 1980's renovations that turned many of the wharves and warehouses into commercial and residential facilities. The man was a survivor of the legal system because Julian had happily tipped him off before a raid. For his efforts, Julian received three thousand pounds and the animosity of most of his colleagues. Most of the money had gone into the court case to keep his job and avoid a jail sentence.

Shaking all that from mind, Julian steeled himself for another round. Not thinking about it, he punched Isabis square in the face, hard. The woman was not so fearless as to pretend it didn't hurt. She gave a cry and strained against her handcuffs, trying to touch her split lip and swollen cheek. Mrs. Jones grabbed her chair and shook it, jostling the African woman roughly.

Julian felt sickened. He knew that this was necessary to get the information he needed about Alex and Yassen, but it still disturbed him. It brought back too many memories of a darker time for him; a time he'd been trying to forget for three years.

* * *

"_P-please Julian!" Marcie begged, holding her burning face pathetically, trying in vain not to cry, "I swear I didn't mean to lose your police badge…I s-swear it! J-just don't hit me again Julian, don't-"_

"_Don't call me Julian!" He was shouting again, spurred on by stress, rage and whiskey, "I told you I hate it, don't do it!" _

_And then, just to teach his insolent, useless wife a lesson, he hit her again. It wasn't very hard, a baby-blow he though dismissively, but Marcie howled nevertheless. She howled like a tortured dog and that brought Julian back to his senses. He saw what he'd done, what he would have normally never have dreamt of doing. He felt the burning, acidic sensations of guilt, shame and fear._

"_Oh Jesus…" He couldn't finish. Marcie saw that he'd woken up to himself. She snarled at him, angry now rather then scared and miserable._

"_You insensitive arsehole!" She shouted, "I hope you die! You fucking bastard, I don't ever want to see your fucking face again! Y-you…You wife-basher!"

* * *

  
_

He'd only hit her that one time, and he'd instantly regretted it, begged forgiveness for it. However, it proved to be in vain. The next morning, Julian woke late with a horrible hangover. He rolled over to find a note pinned to Marcie's pillow. It had read quite simple, 'Go to hell arsehole. Gone to my sister's and staying there.' Later on that day, Marcie's brother came and picked up her possessions. Julian never saw Marcie again.

And now, hitting another woman, even if it was one as dangerous and vicious as Isabis, was bringing back all those sick, horrible feelings of guilt and horror again. Worse still, these sensations were feeding his helpless rage. Julian hoped Isabis told them what they needed soon, because he could feel himself slowly edging closer to the point where'd he totally lose control. He was afraid that once he crossed that threshold, he wouldn't know how to get back to where he was before.

Not to mention there was his plan to consider. Wiping his forehead with his unbloodied hand, Julian turned to Mrs. Jones.

"Your people are going to be wondering where you are," he said hoarsely, pulling out his mobile phone, "You should call them and make up some sort of excuse."

Mrs. Jones took the phone and nodded earnestly, not questioning Julian's suggestion. He offered her a small smile and pointed to a fire escape door that had had its alarm removed.

"This place had next to no phone reception," He explained, adopting a wearily helpful manner, "You'll need to step outside to make the call. Oh, and the door locks behind you, so just knock and give a yell once you're done, okay?"

For a long moment, Mrs. Jones stared at Julian and he thought she saw through his act. Then, she smiled back and shrugged.

"Yes, that's a wise decision," she replied lightly, "I rather think that having Blunt include me in the 'kill-order' club might be a bit of a discouragement. I'll be five minutes."

With that, Mrs. Jones walked outside, already dialling in a number. As Julian had said, the door clicked shut behind her. As soon as she disappeared from sight, Julian turned to Isabis.

"Excellent," he said sweetly, "Now we can have our little chat in privacy."

* * *

"Hey _hombre_," Jose grinned his wide, white grin, "What's happenin'?"

Alex shrugged.

"Not much and that's the problem. Yassen's in the clinic and I've got nothing to do."

Jose's brows shot up and he opened his door wide enough for Alex to walk in. Jose's apartment was different to Alex's; instead of walking right into the kitchen like he would in his own, Alex found himself walking into a small, messy living area. Jose had decided that the normal, modern décor was less to his taste then the brown leather couch, dark-red plush carpeting and dark wood panelled walls. The room was dimly lit and 'Ahora O Nunca' by Tres Coronas pounded around the room. The only remainders of the old furnishings were the wall mounted speakers and the huge TV. Jose had obviously had no problem with those.

"Come on in then kiddo," Jose said cheerfully, "Wait, you said Gregorovich is in the _clinic_?"

"Um, yeah." Alex looked around, thinking that whilst his own apartment was much cleaner, tidier and more modern, Jose's was much more inviting. "Broken rib, made worse by his old gunshot wound."

"¿Ninguna mierda ¡eh!?" Jose whistled, "How'd that happen?"

"My fault," Alex called over his shoulder, walking towards the kitchen, "I shot him with a polymer-"

"Alex, wait-"

Alex stopped dead in his tracks, shocked into silence and stillness by the sight before him. Jose walked up behind him, laughing nervously.

"Maybe should've warned you first, hey?" He said, trying for light and carefree. Alex just shook his head slowly, completely at a loss as to how to react.

"Hi Alex," Adelind obviously didn't feel awkward at all, even if she was only clad in a set of skimpy lingerie and an equally inadequate satin open nightgown, "I'm making sandwiches, want any?"

Alex's brows shot up to a point just below his hairline. He nodded nevertheless though. He _was_ hungry. Adelind smiled widely and turned around in order to peruse Jose's fridge. Alex got the sneaking suspicion that she was displaying her scantily clad body so judiciously just to tease him.

"Hmm," she hummed, "We're eating cheese, ham and refried bean sandwiches apparently. The only other stuff Jose has in his fridge is tequila, beer and out of date yoghurt. Yummy."

"Yeah," Alex tried unsuccessfully not to sound as dry and borderline sarcastic as he did, "Exactly what I was thinking."

Jose was still grinning stupidly, looking between Alex and Adelind. He sat down at the kitchen table. Alex did likewise. For a long moment, Alex just stared flatly at Jose, expression carefully neutral. Finally, Jose stirred.

"So what happened to Yassen?"

Alex bit his bottom lip, the guilt resurfacing.

"We were doing a training exercise," he said slowly, "Using polymer rounds. You know the ones?"

"Oh yeah," Jose nodded, "For sure. So, you shot him with one, right over the old wound?"

Alex nodded grimly and shrugged.

"Yep. As I said, broken rib. He's in the clinic now, looking like shit. So I figured since I had nothing else to do, I'd come visit you. Perhaps I should've called; you obviously were in the middle of receiving…_company_."

"_Actually_ Alex," Adelind interrupted, looking over with a fierce expression, "It's none of your business. You're fifteen, I'm twenty one. I think I beat you somehow."

Alex blushed brightly and ducked his head in embarrassment. Jose seemed to do likewise and once again, silence engulfed the kitchen area.

"But if you must know," Adelind said after a minute or so, quickly cutting the sandwiches into neat triangles, "Jose is an artist, I was modelling for him."

"Really?" Alex honestly couldn't help the disbelief and sarcasm this time, "It looks like fun. Does it pay well?"

Jose coughed slightly and half shrugged.

"It's true Al," he said weakly, "Didn't you see the canvas and easel set up in the living room?"

Alex opened his mouth to reply, but had to shut it again. He shook his head.

"Erm, no…"

"We can go take a look after this," Adelind declared cheerfully, depositing a plateful of sandwiches in front of each person, "For now, let's just eat."

All too happy to push aside the fact he'd just made an idiot of himself in front of the pretty German, Alex nodded and quickly began eating. He really hoped Yassen got out of the clinic soon.

* * *

"Full legal immunity and you've got yourself a deal," Isabis said adamantly, spitting a mouthful of blood out, "So altogether, you gimme a way out of the country with full legal exemption, and then I give you everything I know about Rider and Gregorovich."

Julian considered it.

"I can give you a way out of the country for sure," he said, "But I dunno about getting all charges against you dropped…I'd have to infiltrate police computers and delete your file as well as ask Tulip to erase you from MI6 systems too…"

"Look, this is my only offer," Isabis growled, "So make your decision. Better make it fast too, your girlfriend will be asking to be let back into the building in a minute."

"She's not my girlfriend." Julian snapped. "And fine, I'll go with your deal."

"Right then," Isabis said cheerfully, "But first, how do you plan on getting me out of 'Tulip's' custody, let alone out of the country?"

Julian laughed hollowly.

"Neither of us can actually legally do anything to you; MI6 would kill us." He said, "So we were going to let you go anyway. As for how you're getting out of the country… Never mind that now, it's better not to know these sorts of details ahead of time. Now, what can you give me on Rider and Gregorovich? Did you fly them to France?"

Isabis shrugged and relaxed in the chair she was still handcuffed to.

"No, not to France. I flew them to Tunisia, to Melita Airport. They were going to Scorpia."

"What?!" Julian was appalled. Yassen, the bastard, had gone through with his threat to take Alex to Scorpia?! "How? Where?"

Isabis' eyes widened in surprise.

"You don't know about La Tomba Della Sabbia?" She demanded incredulously. Julian shook his head mutely.

"It's the new Scorpia training facility," Isabis said quietly, "It's massive and extremely well guarded."

"How?" Julian hissed, "Scorpia was finished! Rider destroyed them!"

"Was finished," Isabis repeated, "Notice the emphasis on the past tense. There was a takeover, there's just one leader now, an Australian named Chris Drummond. He's completely turned them around. On top of all that, the Tunisian government is secretly supporting Scorpia, both in terms of financial support, and providing recruits and resources. In return, Scorpia gives them information on other countries…"

"Motherfucker," Julian swore under his breath before looking back up at Isabis in sudden realisation, "When Tulip gave me research privileges in MISO standard networks, I noticed a file linked to Vladimir's…Something about three different countries' spies being discovered and killed within Tunisia, all in the space of two months. Is that-?"

"Yeah." Isabis nodded. "It's all Scorpia. That's where Yassen has taken Rider. Trust me, if you see Alex again, it'll be in several months time and Alex will be holding a gun and wearing a scorpion tattoo."

"Pardon?"

Isabis shrugged.

"It's a habit the trainees have picked up since the takeover. They all get scorpion tattoos."

Julian started to reply to that when suddenly, there was a yell.

"Julian! I'm done with your phone!" Mrs. Jones was back, pounding on the door, "Julian?"

Julian suddenly hated the sound of his name from even Mrs. Jones' mouth. With a growl, he stalked over to the door, arranged a weary but generally acceptable expression on his face, and opened the door.

"Hey," he said, "How'd your people go?"

"Fine," Mrs. Jones sounded a little sad, "I told them I was out getting lunch. Blunt doesn't care, he's happier the further away from this case I am, to the point that he doesn't even care that this is the first lunch-break I've taken in years…"

Julian tried to look sympathetic, but in actual fact, he was just impatient to put the information he'd received to good use. Isabis watched silently from her chair.

"Blunt's an arsehole," Julian forced himself to sound supportive. He put an arm around Mrs. Jones' shoulders, "You know he is. He doesn't deserve such a good deputy like you."

Mrs. Jones smiled at him before shrugging away from Julian's arm and looking at Isabis.

"What do we do with her?"

Isabis spat furiously and glared at Mrs. Jones.

"I'll tell you what you do with me!" She growled, "You let me out of these handcuffs and you and me go, right now."

Mrs. Jones just rolled her eyes and turned back to Julian.

"Well?" she asked, "We obviously have to let her go…"

"Yeah." Julian realised in that instant how tired he was. Not just in the normal sense either. "Well, I think we could give her over to the guy who owns this place…"

Mrs. Jones raised a brow quizzically.

"How does that help anything?"

Julian shrugged.

"This guy owes me a lot of favours…He'd be serving consecutive life sentences if it weren't for me."

Mrs. Jones' eyes narrowed to slits.

"So the corruption charges levelled against you last year were right then?"

"Yeah. Basically." Julian was just too tired to care what Mrs. Jones thought, "But anyway, this guys owes me a favour and a half…I can tell him to take care of Isabis, keep an eye on her until she sorts out some arrangements with Vladimir, yeah?"

Mrs. Jones looked disgusted, but nodded anyway.

"There's not much else we can do."

Julian pointedly ignored the meaningful look in Isabis' eye.

"Exactly."

* * *

"Oh, you were telling the truth…"

Adelind's smile was slightly peevish as she gestured to the canvas covered with still drying paints.

"Really? I thought I was just running around in my bloody underwear because I was too hot. No pun intended."

Alex grinned. The expression came out more like an awkward cringe on his face and Adelind sighed.

"Oh, relax Alex." She laughed, "I'm only taking the piss. Jose, tell him."

Jose was grinning properly now and not bothering to look especially apologetic for it either.

"She's only kidding, _mi amigo_. Get used to it; Adelind doesn't consider a conversation worth the effort unless she manages to make you cry from fear or embarrassment."

"Yeah, right." Alex resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation. All this embarrassment and confusion wasn't what he'd had in mind when he'd come to Jose's apartment in the first place. "Do you want me to go home?"

Jose glanced at Adelind who looked surprised and a little guilty.

"No!" She said, "I'm sorry, I know you came here for some company…I'll be nice, I promise."

Alex raised a brow, now enjoying the way the tables had been turned slightly.

"You're capable of being nice?"

Adelind pouted and Jose had to hide a grin behind his hand.

"Yes!" She whined, "But it's a lot harder when you've got a cocky little fourteen-"

"-Fifteen!" Alex realised he was whining too now, "I'm fifteen!"

"Whatever," Adelind didn't sound so petulant now. She was starting to see the funny side to the whole situation. "But yeah, it's a lot harder to be nice when you've got a cocky little fifteen year old hanging around whom you could easily crush like a bug."

Alex snorted.

"I doubt it," he said, eyeing Adelind speculatively, "You've got a height advantage on me, but you're pretty skinny…I don't see much muscle on you."

Jose's eyes widened at that and he opened his mouth to say something. To who, Alex never found out, for at that moment, Adelind struck, twisting her whole body around with her arms splayed out. Then, she snapped her body back to the way it was before, arms flying through the air faster then Alex could see. The only evidence of her movement was when Alex felt the back of one of her hands smash across his face, causing him to reel back in pain and shock.

"Jesus," Alex winced, feeling hot blood trickling from his nose, "You almost broke my nose I think…"

Adelind looked insulted still by Alex's earlier remarks, but she had taunting smile on her lips.

"Here's my contribution to your training Alex," she said sweetly, "The most underestimated punch is a slap; you can be tiny and weak and yet if you do it right, you can break someone's nose with a simple slap. I could've knocked you out right then, if I'd wanted to."

"Yeah." Alex said, dabbing at his nose, "But god, did you have to hit my face? It's already sore…"

Adelind narrowed her eyes.

"I meant to ask about that before, but your idiotic pubescent remarks distracted me. How'd your face get to looking like that anyway?"

Jose's eyes were dark and Alex suddenly felt very cornered.

"Normal stuff from training."

Jose shook his head and leant back against the wall, arms folded across his chest.

"Alex, I know what happens in training. Whilst sometimes it's unavoidable, we're told to avoid targeting each other's heads in combat and such to avoid brain injuries. What's on your face was deliberately put there. So, who hit you?"

Alex growled something offensive under his breath and threw his hands in the air. Whilst he was the picture of frustration and irritation, he was in fact considering an idea that'd just occurred to him.

"Why does everyone have to assume someone hit me?" He snapped, "It's like you all have to take it for granted something bad happened!"

Adelind and Jose both raised their brows, looking equally amused and taken aback by Alex's outburst.

"Ok then," Adelind said slowly, "What happened?"

Alex managed to fake a sheepish cringe and he subtly tried his best to blush.

"Um, can we just say that it was down to my own stupidity?"

Jose's brows jumped even higher then before and his grin was teasing now.

"Ok, now my imagination is running wild…Spill Rider!"

Alex groaned and rolled is eyes.

"Alright, fine!" He pretended to be exasperated, "But you're going to laugh…Today, before I injured Yassen, I was running away and I looked over my shoulder to see where he was, when I turned back I sorta…" Alex took a breath in, "I sorta ran straight into a wall."

There was a long moment of silence. Then Adelind stirred.

"And that's how you ended up with half your face bruised black and blue?"

Alex tried to look innocently puzzled, like he couldn't understand why the German was questioning his story.

"Yeah."

"_Ich denke so irgendwie nicht_," Adelind muttered to herself. Alex frowned; his German was rusty, so he wasn't sure what she'd just said. It didn't matter though, because Adelind's expression quickly cleared and she smirked at Alex. "Jeez Al, you're a real klutz."

"Yeah _hombre_," Jose laughed, "I don't know how Gregorovich expects to train a kid who's so dumb he runs into crap."

"Hey!" Alex pouted, "You wouldn't be so cocky yourself if you'd had a maliciously inclined Yassen behind you."

Adelind snorted and put up her hands.

"Alright, alright." She said in amusement, "fair enough, I've seen how…Oh, what's the word…How _irre _Yassen can be."

Alex wasn't entirely sure what 'irre' meant, but he took it in context. His ability to do this meant that he was very adept at learning new languages.

"Really? When?"

Adelind bit her bottom lip and suddenly, she looked nervous.

"I don't know if I should say anything…" she said softly, "He doesn't know I saw that particular little scene…I don't think he'd appreciate me saying anything."

Alex was being eaten alive by curiosity.

"Oh come on," he moaned, "I'll pretend like I don't know?"

Adelind closed her eyes in a motion that seemed to be her way of disclaiming any responsibility for what she was about to say.

"Okay, but listen closely, I don't want to go through this again…"

* * *

"_Umm, you've got a visitor."_

_Yassen frowned and looked up at Adelind from the poisons textbook he was studying. The sixteen year old German girl shrunk back under the Russian's irritated blue stare._

"_I'm busy," he replied bluntly, "I have an assignment coming up soon, I need to be prepared."_

"_S-sorry," Adelind seemed to shrink back even further. "But this visitor…He says he knows you from before you joined Scorpia."_

_Yassen froze then, looking up sharply._

"_Vladimir?"_

"_No, not your cousin." Adelind wanted nothing more then to escape the room where she was pinned down by the Russian's cold, merciless eyes, "But another Russian. I th-think his name was Sergey?" _

_If Yassen had looked scary before, it was nothing to the uncontrolled look of fury on his face now._

"_No!" He hissed, seemingly more to himself then to Adelind, "There is no possible way…"_

_Terrified almost senseless, Adelind spoke up again._

"_He said he was Yuri Tastiiv's son in Estrov!" She squeaked, "He says he really wants to talk to you!"_

"_О, я буду говорить с ним хорошо," Yassen breathed before looking at Adelind. He realised he was scaring the girl and he also remembered she only spoke German and heavily accented English. "Send him into me, but you can go now."_

_Adelind nodded and fled the room. A moment later, Sergey Yurivich walked in._

_His face was the same: a heavy nose but with high cheekbones and a surprisingly feminine looking mouth. However, he was no longer the emaciated, tiny little thing he had been. He was tall now, taller then Yassen even. He'd also bulked up; he looked like a prize fighter now._

"_Привет, Yassen," his voice was quiet, and only mildly accented, as if his Russian heritage was slowly being washed away by outside influences, "It's been a long time."_

_Yassen said nothing, only just holding himself in check. Sergey noted this and something like awkwardness clouded his large, brown eyes._

"_Obviously not long enough for you though." He said softly, looking away. Yassen curled his lip and packed as much hatred and disgust into his stare as possible._

"_Obviously." He repeated mockingly. "Tell me, how did you avoid the same fate as your Father and almost all of Estrov?"_

_Sergey shrugged slightly, his shoulders rising and slumping in an almost lazy motion._

"_You do remember my parents were divorced, correct? Well, I was with my mother at the time…I didn't hear that my Father had been killed until a week later."_

"_You were with your mother?" Yassen sounded irritated, "It would have been far better if you hadn't have been."_

"_Yassen-"_

"_Why are you here?" Yassen cut in, no longer interested in beating around the bush, "How did you find me?"_

"_I tracked you down over the years," Sergey said calmly, "I came here to Scorpia for two reasons. Firstly, I want to try and join. Secondly…Well, I'd like to try and apologise for everything I did to you, and more importantly, to Nastya."  
_

_Yassen had never dreamed that he'd ever see Sergey again, let alone that the spiteful, vicious child he remembered from school would have made such a reformation. Nevertheless, his reaction was a wave of rage and disgust._

"_You honestly think that an appallingly belated apology, a mere assortment of doubtlessly rehearsed words can ever atone for what you did to Nastya?" Yassen demanded in a low and dangerous tone, "That anything you can say or do will ever repair the damage you did to her?"_

_Sergey looked pained, nauseous even._

"_I was a child!" He burst out pleadingly, "A spoilt, unfeeling child! I see now what a terrible thing I did! Surely you can understand that? You were no better in all honesty, although I do not raise that point in the aim of argument. I just want you to try and accept my apology, for you to forgive me and all my wrongs."_

_For a long moment, there was a taut, nerve-wrenching silence. Yassen stared at Sergey, through him. Then, Yassen relaxed suddenly._

"_Perhaps," He said slowly, "There is a possibility for that, for forgiveness."_

_Unsure, Sergey smiled uncertainly. His old nemesis' sudden shift had thrown him off balance slightly. Yassen returned the smile, but there was something truly chilling and terrifying behind the anterior benevolence of the expression. Sergey squirmed in discomfort that he couldn't quite explain, even to himself._

"_Yes," Yassen said softly, "I think I can forgive you…Provided I can gain some sort of closure out of all of this."_

_Sergey's expression was openly perplexed and fearful now._

"_What-"_

_Before he could finish however, Yassen struck. Before Sergey could even react, Yassen had picked up his textbook and without hesitation, slammed the heavy book's solid spine across Sergey's face with all his strength. Sergey reeled, teetering on the line between consciousness and unconsciousness. With another blow from the book, Yassen sent him over. Without a sound, Sergey fell to the floor._

_*****_

_From behind the bookcase she'd snuck to, Adelind stifled a scared gasp. Despite her instincts' screams to run and never look back, she stayed and moved back to the gap between the two books she was peering through._

_*****_

_By the time Sergey came around again, he'd been tied one of the chairs in the room with lamp cords. Whilst the space was usually full of studying Scorpia agents like Yassen, the room was presently empty due to the very late hour. To make matters worse, the room's carpeted floor and thickly furnished nature meant that his screams would not be heard from outside. Sergey had no doubt there would be screams either; he'd seen the precursors of Yassen's vicious nature years earlier. He'd seen Yassen carelessly torment and kill birds and small animals as a child, trapping the poor creatures in corners and stoning them to death. He would just be like them, only larger and perhaps more diverting._

"_Yassen…" Sergey whimpered, in pain from his broken nose and terrified witless, "P-please, I'm s-sorry!"_

"_No you're not Sergey." Yassen stood before him in shadow, face caught in a shaft of moonlight that came through a high, small window. His eyes seemed expressionless, empty, only reflecting blue and nothing else. "You're only offering your apologies out of fear, out of terror. It's understandable, but not adequate. That's why I am going to make you atone for everything you did, so that you mean it when you say you're sorry."_

_Cold, consuming fear closed its grip around Sergey's heart. He started to shake. He had never foreseen this when he'd decided to find Yassen and apologise for the actions of his past._

"_What are you going to do to me?" He demanded._

_Yassen just laughed grimly and took a step forward._

"_Why should I give you any warning to your fate?" He snarled, "You never gave Nastya any…She wanted so badly to do well in school, and yet she had to live in constant fear whilst doing so, afraid that at any moment, she'd be dragged off to the cleaner's closet and treated like a cheap prostitute by you and your 'friends'. As if she didn't have to put up with that enough from her own Father."_

_Sergey was beyond fear and terror now, he had tears leaking from his wide, panicky eyes._

"_I was wrong!" He sobbed, "So wrong! I can see that now, p-please let my apology-"_

"_No Sergey." Yassen didn't sound furious anymore, just calm and unmoving in an almost dreamlike manner. "There is no apologising for raping and abusing a child, you should know that, there's only vengeance."_

_With that, Yassen moved forward. Sergey began to howl and blubber in Russian, struggling against his restraints. Behind her bookcase, Adelind was shaking and silently sobbing in shared terror. She could barely see through her tears as Yassen produced a knife from somewhere and ignoring his captive's now mind boggling hysterics, brutally slashed Sergey's throat. The horrible, gristly sound of the blade tearing through flesh, bone and muscle made Adelind gag. Blood poured forth in a great torrent, but Yassen moved back before any of it could get on him. Adelind screamed then, but shoved her fist into her mouth so that all that could be heard was a stifled moan, easily concealed in the splashing, bubbling sound of the pouring blood and last struggles from Sergey._

_Yassen stayed where he stood, watching his old enemy die. Once the man's struggles ceased, and he slumped forward in his chair, the Russian stirred. He said something in low Russian, something Adelind never forgot._

"_Неm никакого раскаяния в моем мире, только кровь и месть." There is no repentance in my world, only blood and vengeance. _

_Then, Yassen seemed to smile, although it was hard to say this for sure, because it was so dark. Whatever the case, the Russian certainly laughed shortly in a grim tone before turning and leaving the room. Adelind followed shortly after, once she was sure she wouldn't be seen.

* * *

  
_

"Jeessuss _Christ_," Alex breathed, "That's…"

He didn't need to finish, Adelind knew what he meant. She nodded with her eyes haunted and full of lingering fear.

"Yeah." She half whispered, "So yeah, I know how scary Gregorovich can be."

For a minute, no one said anything. Then, Jose stirred and laughed.

"_Dios_, what a buzz kill," he said in amusement, "Let's try and keep it on the up and up, _bien?" _

"_Sí, idea Buena_," Alex teasingly imitated Jose's accent, "Let's do something fun. But first…"

Everyone waited, eyebrows raised. Then, Alex mock-glared at Adelind.

"You need to put some clothes on."

* * *

Alex left a few hours and a drink or two later (Alex had been more careful with his drinking this time; he'd certainly learnt that he couldn't trust himself when he was drunk). In his absence, Jose's apartment seemed a little less open, a little less warm.

Adelind stared at the front door that had just swung shut. She'd pulled on an outfit she'd brought with her: a pair of black slacks and a pink silk turtleneck. The pink clashed with her hair, but she still looked nice.

"Jose, did you notice Alex's reaction when we asked what happened to his face?"

Jose paused in the middle of clearing up glasses and empty cans. He had a slight buzz going, but not to the point where his judgement was necessarily affected.

"Yes, he seemed uneasy. He had an explanation though." He kept his tone carefully neutral, wanting to hear what Adelind had to say.

"And you believed it?" Adelind wasn't incredulous; she too was trying to approach this rationally.

"No." Jose didn't elaborate on his opinion. "I take it you didn't either. Why?"

Adelind was feeling awkward. She barely knew this boy, this child. Yet, she was drawn to him, inclined to worry for him. The worst part was she didn't quite know how much of all of this was normal and 'sisterly'.

"His bruises…" She licked her lips nervously. "They were all wrong. If they'd only just occurred this afternoon, as he'd said, they shouldn't be so pronounced and so blue yet…His bruises have had at least 12 hours to develop. I'd wager money on it."

"_¡Ay! Mierda_" Jose said sighing, "You know what that means _¿derecho? _We need to know who hit the kid."

"We already have that information Jose," Adelind looked both grim and edgy now, "You know we do. The kid's only been with a few people since coming here, and there's only one person out of all of them who'd inflict that sort of injury…"

"So what do we do?" Jose carefully placed the empty glasses in the sink and faced Adelind. "Do we tell Chris?"

Adelind chewed her bottom lip meditatively.

"I don't know yet."

* * *

Alex's mind was engrossed as he walked back to his apartment. He was thinking of soccer, and of the position Jose had suggested for him. He was so busy in fact; he didn't notice the two people blocking his way until he all but bumped right into them.

"Oh…" Alex blinked, trying to clear the slight alcoholic haze away. "Um, hi?"

Jun sneered at him coldly. Amil merely glared at him blandly from a metre or so back. This was obviously meant to be Jun's show then. Alex resisted the urge to wince; at least Ami looked big and slow.

"Hey Rider, guess what?" Jun asked nastily.

"Umm, you finally managed to get your fly zipped up?" Alex pointed, thinking fast. Jun looked down quickly and that was when Alex struck. Whilst Jun was distracted, Alex quickly punched him square in the face. Not at all interested in discovering the consequences of his actions, Alex then bolted.

In all fairness, Alex should have made it. However, life is very rarely fair and it was only a matter of steps away from the front door to his apartment when Alex was tackled to the ground. Winded and bruised by the fall, Alex nevertheless attempted to get back to his feet and lunge for the door.

He never made it though. His fingers were mere centimetres from the door when agonisingly, he was jerked backwards. His hands closed on empty air and Alex suddenly found himself face to face with a grinning Amil.

"Shit, I thought you were slow!" The words popped out of his mouth before he could stop them. Amil glared at him. "Um, physically I mean."

Obviously, this was completely unsatisfactory as an apology. Amil picked Alex up by his shirtfront, a disturbing grin plastered over his broad face. Then, faster then Alex would have thought possible for the enormous African man, he pinned Alex's arms behind his back using only one hand.

Jun appeared, dabbing angrily at a split lip. Alex was glad to see he'd managed to achieve at least some damage.

"_Baka Ka_!" He spat, reminding Alex suddenly of a cat, hissing and snarling in his rage, "That's it, you're really going to get it now!"

"Really?" Alex knew he shouldn't aggravate the guy, but his mouth just wouldn't let him behave, "I thought all this was just to impress me."

The next line he'd had planned was lost in a grunt as Jun kicked him savagely in the stomach. Painful as it was, Alex couldn't help but admire the Japanese's form; it was perhaps the most perfectly and effortlessly demonstrated example of a _Mawashi Geri_, or roundhouse kick, that he'd ever seen.

"What happened to your smart mouth?" Jun sneered, kicking him again. "Lost it 'ey?"

Alex said nothing, winded and in too much pain to bother replying. Past the immediate agony and discomfort, a small voice in his head was sullenly wondering why it was that most people these days seemed to want to either injure him grievously or stab/shoot/blow him up. Surely he wasn't _that_ annoying?

"Yeah, you have." Jun was almost obsenely delighted, laughing and slipping into brief snatches of Japanese. "_Gaki_, you don't have such a smart _kuchi_ on you now…"

With that, Jun backhanded Alex across the face. He opened his mouth, presumably to continue his rant, but he never got the chance. Furiously, Alex jerked his head back, packing all the strength he could into the gesture. Surprised, Amil moved back, but didn't let go. Quickly taking advantage of the extra space, Alex pulled his arms forward, nearly dislocating his shoulders in an effort to escape Amil's grip. Then, he jabbed backwards with both his elbows, landing two precise blows over Amil's kidneys. Giving a pained grunt, the African man faltered. This gave Alex the opportunity to turn, lunge forward, grab the knife he'd seen at Amil's belt and then wheel back around and grab Jun, who was not much taller then him, and hold the knife to his throat.

Operating on adrenalin, anger and surprise, the entire process took Alex less then forty seconds. His sudden burst into vicious action caught both Amil and Jun utterly unawares. The silence after Alex's whirlwind attack was loaded with shock and realisation that this child was perhaps not the easy target they'd assumed.

"I'm sick of being picked on." Alex said in a voice that despite it's low volume, was dripping venom and malice. "I came here to escape being picked on and being used. I refuse to let you fucking assholes ruin everything for me."

"Nice words Rider," Jun hissed, apparently unconcerned with the blade at his throat. Amil however obviously wasn't so blasé about the entire thing; he looked worried for his friend. "But I'm never going to stop. Understand me? _Never_."

Alex narrowed his eyes and stared at Jun.

"What have I done?" He demanded, feeling slightly upset, "What have I done that's so bad I deserve your hatred?"

"_Watashi ha jibun no kyoudai no ada wo utsu_!" Jun yelled. To Alex's surprise, an expression of pain entered the man's eyes. "You killed my brother! You killed him!"

* * *

**Much love to whoever figures out who Jun's brother was... Anyway, here's my questions...**

**1)Should Julian Schaeffer go to Tunisia in an effort to find Alex and Yassen?**

**2) How should Mrs. Jones find out what Julian is up to?**

**3)Does anyone want an account of Alex's first Scorpia soccer game? lol...**

**4)What song does this chapter remind you of?**

**5)What do you think should happen from here with Jun/Amil and Alex?**

**Thanks for reading this guys and I apologise again for the lateness!!!! Love you all!  
**


	14. Chapter Fourteen, Blackout

**Chapter Fourteen, Blackout**

**I know, I know... I _know_! It's been months, I haven't updated anything, etc etc. I'm sorry! My laptop (containing all my stories) decided it didn't want to live anymore. It took months to get it repaired, literally months! I'm back now though and here's a short but sweet update to celebrate!**

**So, in this chapter, you find out who Jun's brother was. You also find out a little more about the mysterious 'Nastya' who has been weighing so heavily on Yassen's mind in recent times. Also, you get a brief snapshot of the tangled web of deceit Julian Schaeffer is beginning to weave for himself. Enjoy.

* * *

  
**

"What?" Alex demanded, eyeing Jun in bewilderment, "I did what?!"

"You heard me, you little _monsuta_," He snarled in reply, "You killed my brother!"

Alex found that for a long moment, he had nothing to say. He merely looked between Jun and Amil in utter bewilderment. Jun looked…Well, like Jun which meant vicious and mean. Amil looked bored, but Alex knew the giant African man would look bored even as he crushed his skull like an egg. That was just the sort of guy he was.

Eventually, once the silence had stretched to unpleasant lengths, Alex knew he had to say something to the two thugs before him.

"I don't even know who your brother was!" He protested, "How could I have killed him?!"

Amil muttered something quietly in an unknown language to Jun. The Japanese man paused, seemingly unhappy with whatever his friend had suggested to him. Amil sighed and looked Alex in the eye. Surprisingly, there was little actual hatred or hostility in the man's expression.

"Jun has picture of his brother in pocket." The man had a deep, rumbling voice of broken English. It made Alex think that this was how a rockslide must sound. "You see it, yes?"

"Okay." Alex nodded and before he could think too much about it, dug in Jun's pocket. He found a wallet and pulled that out, never taking the blade away from his captive's throat. "I'm looking now."

And there, in a foldout part of the leather wallet was the photo. Alex looked at it and suddenly realised what he'd gotten himself into.

"But…" Alex looked at Jun in confusion, "Your brother was Chinese?"

"No." Jun wasn't yelling or snarling anymore, but his quiet tone now held a different and more intimidating note of viciousness, "Only half. It was enough to get him into Big Circle."

Alex didn't reply immediately, looking once more at the photo in his hands. Then, something occurred to him.

"I didn't kill him!" He burst out, "I was told he survived being drowned with only a broken nose!"

Jun gave an impressive snort and glared at Alex with renewed hatred.

"Then you're stupid! You should have known there would be no tolerance for his failure once he reported back to his Enforcer!"

Alex returned the glare with one of his own, indignation making him argumentative.

"So you're saying I should have let him shoot me, so he didn't get in trouble with the bosses then?"

"His life was worth more then yours!"

Alex had heard enough. The fight had quickly reduced to a standoff and already even that was reaching a point of idiocy.

"Yeah, whatever." He rolled his eyes, drawing a furious hiss from Jun and a throaty growl from Amil, "You know what? I really don't give a shit. You can give me all the death threats you want, I don't care. You can stick them up your ar-"

"_Alex_?" As if by some divine intervention, Chris Drummond appeared at that moment. As soon as he the sight before him fully clicked within his keen mind, the expression of shock on his face was quickly replaced by anger. "Okay, who started this?"

As was to be expected perhaps, Amil and Jun pointed at Alex whilst he pointed at the other two. Chris looked tempted to grin for a split second. The mirth didn't last long however once the man noticed the knife.

"Alex, tell me what happened."

Alex glanced at Jun and Amil briefly.

"I ran into these two and they attacked me."

"Liar." Amil grunted, sounding surprisingly good humoured considering what had happened. "You threw first punch."

Chris raised a brow and glanced at Alex with suddenly narrowed eyes.

"Is that true?"

Alex bit his bottom lip and squirmed uncomfortably.

"Technically?" He asked, "Yes… But it was completely provoked! These two have attacked me before and even though I threw the first punch, they were hardly defenceless… Look!"

Not leaving Chris any time to protest, Alex threw the knife he'd been threatening Jun with to the ground and pulled his shirt up. There, across his torso, were the livid marks left by Jun kicking him. There was actually an imprint from the tread of Jun's boots on Alex's stomach. The entire mess ached horribly.

Chris looked furious now. He turned to survey Jun, who in turn merely laughed derisively.

"The brat is lying," The Japanese man said coldly, "We've never touched him before."

"That's not true!" Alex knew he was yelling, but he couldn't force his emotions and voice back under control, "Ask Yassen, he'll tell you!"

Chris's mouth formed a hard line across his face.

"I just went to see Yassen, he's unconscious. You'll need to calm down and explain things yourself."

Alex opened his mouth to argue, but quickly shut it at the warning in Chris' eyes.

"Okay." He said eventually, struggling to contain himself, "Fine."

"Good." Chris nodded approvingly, "Now, explain exactly what happened."

Alex didn't look at Jun, not trusting himself to keep his temper.

"I've gotten into a fight with Jun and Amil before. I ran into them again just now. I knew I couldn't win fighting fair, so I tricked Jun and punched him in the face before running. I wasn't fast enough though, I got caught and Jun kicked me. I managed to get free though and steal Amil's knife. I then grabbed Jun and ended up discovering that Jun's half Chinese brother was a triad member I tangled with last year."

"He got him killed!" Jun interjected suddenly, the hissing, catlike quality back in his voice, "Rider got my brother killed!"

Chris studied both Alex and Jun for a moment, shaking his head slowly in equal parts exasperation and deep thought. Eventually, his expression cleared and he turned to Jun.

"I know about your brother," He said sternly, "And it has to be said, if you join the Triads, you have to be able to accept the consequences for failure, just as you do if you join Scorpia. If your brother was able to do that, you should have been able to as well."

Jun looked wild, but obviously didn't dare go against Chris.

"So, here's what's going to happen: you and your walking brick wall here are going to keep your hands off Alex," Chris said firmly, eyeing Amil briefly before turning to Alex, "And you are going to stay the hell out of these two's way. Everyone clear?"

"Crystal." Alex grunted crankily, ignoring the prickling sensation of Jun glaring at him.

"And you two?" Chris raised a brow at Jun and Amil.

"Sure thing boss man." Amil shrugged, an action that imitated two boulders rolling down a hillside.

"_Hai_." Jun muttered sullenly.

"Excellent." Chris smiled humourlessly, "Now kids, I have to go talk to the head of Martial Arts Training. If you guys don't play nice, I'm going to want to know why."

Then, without another word, Chris strode off, leaving Jun, Amil and Alex alone once more.

"Don't think this is over." Jun snarled in the pregnant pause that followed Chris' departure, "We're still going to get you."

"Of course you are." Alex rolled his eyes, "I'd expect no less. Now, if you don't mind, I have places to be."

"Enjoy your freedom whilst you can Rider," Jun smiled nastily, "But I'd be looking over my shoulder if I were you."

"And if I were you," Alex replied, just as unpleasantly, "I'd finish me off properly next time because I tell you what; you come after me again and I'm gonna make what happened to your brother look like a walk in the park."

With that, he strode off. Before he turned around though, Alex swore he saw Amil grin.

'_Strange, strange people…'_

**

* * *

  
**

_Yassen wondered the cold alley, scuffing his falling apart shoes on the rough broken concrete haphazardly. They icy winter air tore through his uncut hair and thin coat cruelly, but he ignored it, too absorbed by his aimless wonderings. He mindlessly kicked at a nearby pebble. It skittered away into the dark._

_And then flew back through the air to hit Yassen in the chest._

"_Watch it." Came a resentful voice._

_The voice belonged to a small girl, sitting on a nearby porch, one of the few lit buildings in the area. Loud, drunken male voices and shriller female conversation could be heard filtering out from behind the girl._

"_Sorry." Yassen stood awkwardly, surveying the girl. He'd never come into contact with anyone else during his nightly wonderings. "I didn't mean to."_

_The girl merely shrugged and Yassen studied her more closely._

_Pale, sallow skin, almost lifeless looking except for a few blemishes hiding under a light coating of make-up. Shoulder length hair, dyed a strange reddish colour sat in natural waves around her face. Her face itself was not conventionally pretty, but Yassen was intrigued by the curve of her cheekbones and the slightly angular shape of her dark brown eyes._

"_What are you looking at?" She asked sullenly, regarding Yassen with a mixture of annoyance and resignation. "I don't care what the sign says, I'm not for hire."_

_It was only then Yassen noticed the sign above the door the girl sat in front of._

_**Iolanta's: for the lonely male**_

"_Oh." Yassen looked back at the girl. "A whore-house?"_

_The girl pouted and glared briefly before sighing and nodding._

"_Sadly, yes… It's my home."_

_Yassen was unsure what the appropriate response to what a statement was, so he decided to pretend like this was perfectly normal._

"_I'm Yassen." He said openly, offering his hand._

_The girl surveyed his hand suspiciously for a moment, as if expecting it to grow fangs and bite. However, Yassen resolutely kept it extended and she shook it gingerly._

"_I'm Nastya." She replied, "It's… It's nice to meet you Yassen. What are you doing out so late?"_

_Yassen shrugged._

"_I don't sleep." He said, "Not very much anyway. So, I sneak out and walk around. Why are __**you**__ out?"_

"_I'm only out on the doorstep." Nastya pointed out. "Besides, Iolanta invited all of her boyfriend's friends to spend the night over… There's no spare bedrooms, but plenty of noise. Understand me?"_

_Yassen winced and nodded._

"_I guess that's not much fun." He offered._

_Nastya shrugged, looking miserably sullen._

"_You got that right." She muttered, "I can't wait until I have enough money to run away… I want to go to Moscow and become an actress."_

_Yassen thought about that for a moment. Estrov was a long way from Moscow, it seemed like another world almost._

"_That'd be fun," He agreed, "But why don't you just ask your Mum to move away from this place now?"_

"_That's just it," Nastya shook her head; "I don't live with my Mum. All my family got killed. The girls who work here adopted me."_

"_You have no family at all?" Yassen repeated incredulously, "How the hell did that happen?"_

_Nastya frowned, only just beginning to realise that at thirteen years old, Yassen either hadn't developed any great amount of tact yet, or simply didn't display what little he had._

"_My Mother and Father didn't agree with some of the government's policies. They protested. So, some secret police came and killed them. I ran away, so I survived."_

"_Oh." Yassen said, before realising he was supposed to offer something in return, "My Mother helps take care of our neighbours' babies and my Father works in the facility on the hill."_

_Nastya's eyes widened at that._

"_They make weapons there!" She exclaimed, "Chemical ones I think… One of the girls used to work in the cleaning team there, but she got fired. She told me about it… Apparently the whole place is top-secret and under budgeted!"_

_Yassen's education may not have been particularly thorough (mostly due to his chronic habit of very rarely attending school), but his parents had taught him a lot about money and hard work, so he understood the implications of 'under budgeted'. _

"_My Dad said something like that my Mother," He replied, sitting next to Nastya on the porch, "He's had to do heaps of extra hours lately because there's not enough people with engineering and chemistry degrees to do the work."_

_Nastya looked even more disbelieving._

"_Your Father has been to University?" She gaped, "And yet your family lives in a place like Estrov?"_

"_Yeah." Yassen sighed. As a small child, he's grown with nothing but innocent acceptance for his hometown. However, of late he'd grown restless and had started to feel a deep, churning resentment for the town he was trapped in. He especially hated the plant his Father worked in, the way it loomed over everything and seemed to suck so much life and happiness from his Father. "I want to go to Moscow too I guess. Otherwise, I'm scared I'll never leave this place."_

* * *

The flashback of his first meeting with Nastya was almost more then Yassen could stand. Any memories of Nastya were painful, but this one in particular as it reminded Yassen of a time when he's had so much hope for the future and when he'd believed in things, not least of all himself.

'_Now look at me.' _Yassen thought bitterly as he stared at the roof blankly, _'I have no hope for myself, for the future… The best thing I've ever done is kept Alex alive and so far, I've only just managed that.'_

As that thought occurred to him, Yassen felt the usual fierce resolution to do his best for Alex. To begin with, his interest in Alex had been purely a result of his grief for John Rider's death. However, after meeting Alex through the boy's missions and keeping tabs on him after that (not that Alex realised he'd been under Yassen's surveillance for close to a year now), Yassen had grown genuinely attached and protective of the boy. The thought of failing Alex was enough to make panic and despair close its ice-cold fist over Yassen's heart.

'_Or what's left of it anyway,' _Yassen thought in grim amusement as another savage wave of pain in his chest caused him to clench his teeth and restrain a groan, _'Which isn't much.'_

The rest of his train of thought was disrupted as the urge to cough suddenly arose. Restraining himself from coughing was pure agony, almost as bad as the time Cray had shot him. However, Yassen knew he had to stop himself. It was entirely possible for one simple cough to cause even further damage; maybe even fracture another rib and chances were, if any further damage was done…

Yassen weakly swallowed and reluctantly thought about what the doctor had said.

The impact of the polymer round had broken his sixth rib. Originally, because his pain was so great, the medics had thought he may have suffered a hairline fracture along his seventh rib as well. However, this was later disproved through x-rays. To try and control the pain however, they'd switched from prescribing codeine to a larger dose of hydrocodone. The dosage they were prescribing was greater then strictly safe, but the pain and discomfort of the injury was forcing the doctor's to operate on the basis of 'if it doesn't kill him or damage his liver, its fine'.

However, this was little consolation. Due to his previous chest injury (once more, Yassen cursed Cray), his ribs were greatly weakened and this second injury had only increased the weakness. So, whilst at present his sixth rib was only broken in one place, any violent coughing or further impacts would most likely cause his sixth rib to shatter further along the bone, almost definitely sending bone shards into his lungs or other internal organs. Either that, or the pain would be so great and the free-floating segment of bone would be such an impediment to his breathing that Yassen would very likely go into shock or lose the ability to breathe on his own.

If that happened, his chances of survival were minimal, if at all existent.

Despite all this, the urge to cough was still present and greater then ever. Yassen grit his teeth and bore it the best he could, but as time went on, the pressure built up in his chest and the pain passed his ability to cope. Gasping for breath, he pressed the button next to his bed.

A nurse appeared almost immediately. Yassen faintly realised he was a priority patient as the woman rushed over.

"M-meds," He managed to rasp, fists clenching and unclenching as he struggled not to lose control and howl like some sort of animal, "Need to c-cough…"

The nurse nodded tersely and quickly produced a needle which she filled from a canister suspended from a hook near Yassen's bed. She checked there were no air bubbles present in the medicine before injecting the entire syringe into the deltoid muscles of Yassen shoulder.

"That'll kick in a few minutes," The nurse said, "You need to try and keep calm until then. Do you want me to call the Doctor?"

Yassen shook his head, grimacing. He was determined to control the pain, not allow it to control him. However, no matter his intentions, he couldn't stop himself from writhing in his bed, frightening the nurse. Such movement held an enormous risk of furthering the damage done by his injury. The nurse turned and called for help.

The doctor, an Indonesian man with an impressive education (but an unfortunate habit of fraternising with organised crime) appeared, already producing another needle. This time, he didn't bother with injecting Yassen in the same manner as the nurse and then waiting for his body to metabolise the drugs. He injected the needle's contents directly into Yassen's IV.

"I'm going to sedate you," He said, "It's too dangerous to leave you conscious."

Yassen opened his mouth to protest, but found that suddenly, everything was fading away like water down a drain and his ability speak was following quickly.

Just before everything darkened completely, Yassen found a brief spurt of strength, enough to deliver a demand.

"Don't tell Alex."

* * *

"I think I need a holiday." Julian said, not meeting Mrs. Jones' eye. He toyed with his food instead, not feeling any particular enthusiasm for the meal in front of him.

Mrs. Jones' brow furrowed and she regarded him with surprise.

"I thought you were caught up on dealing with Alex and Yassen?"

Julian shrugged and managed to meet Mrs. Jones' confused gaze.

"This whole thing… It's getting to me Tulip." He swallowed, more from nervousness at his lying then real sadness, "When I was watching Isabis... I started wondering if I can trust myself to do the right thing… I don't know if I can and that scares me."

Tulip's expression softened and something like sympathy entered her eyes.

"That's pretty noble of you," She said kindly, "Where would you go on holiday?"

"Africa I think." Julian pretended to think about it, "I want a bit of a Mediterranean experience, but I don't have the money for Greece or Italy. I was thinking maybe Tunisia?"

Mrs. Jones' face quickly reacquired its confused frown.

"Tunisia?" She repeated doubtfully, "Why there? I would have thought that the south of France would have been far cheaper then flying to Africa."

For a moment, Julian was caught out, unsure what to say. Then, an excuse came to mind.

"I don't particularly like France," He pretended to admit; "I find it overly touristic. I've never been to Africa though. Maybe I could go on a safari and look at some lions?"

Tulip smiled in smug amusement, like one who has had their intelligence proven.

"Lions are extinct in northern Africa, Julian." She said dryly.

Julian was quickly growing tired of Mrs. Jones.

"Oh well." He forced a nonchalant smile, "Perhaps I shall just go to Tunis and investigate the sights there."

Mrs. Jones suddenly frowned and looked at Julian very closely, making him squirm slightly in his seat.

"You really want to give up the hunt for Yassen and Alex?" She asked, "I was really counting on you to come with me to France."

Julian had to resist the urge to smirk. Mrs. Jones had bought his story that whilst she'd been outside, Isabis had admitted to Julian that Yassen and Alex were headed to France.

"I know." Julian bit his bottom lip and tried to widen his eyes innocently, forcing his face into an expression of regret, "I feel so bad… I mean, I'm worried… But, I'm really scared I won't be able to look myself in the mirror once this is all done if I come with you…"

'_Oh bravo.' _A nasty little voice in the back of Julian's head sounded like it might be rolling its eyes. _'You're not overdoing it __**at all.**__'_

Mrs. Jones' smile was a trifle sad now, sympathy and pity etched into the lines around her eyes.

"I understand." She replied, producing her wallet and placing some money on the table (Julian noted she was leaving a tip and quite a substantial one at that. Not for the first time he felt a stab of resentment over his own impoverished state). "I'm a little disappointed, I'll admit that, but I understand."

Julian followed as Mrs. Jones stood and lead the way from the restaurant.

"I'm sorry," He apologised again, "Please don't be upset with me."

Mrs. Jones laughed.

"Upset?" She repeated in amusement, "I actually think it's rather wise of you… If you don't trust yourself, I respect your self-control."

Julian didn't trust himself to reply to that, so he merely smiled and bid Mrs. Jones goodbye. As he climbed into the privacy of his own car however, he allowed his emotions to escape.

It was a long time before he could stop laughing.

* * *

Alex was irritated. He knew it was unreasonable, considering the circumstances, but his temper had kicked in before he'd really been able to think things through.

"Why can't I see him?" He demanded for what felt like the hundredth time. Arguing with this doctor felt like trying to chew his way through a brick wall.

The doctor, a short Indonesian man, frowned at Alex disapprovingly.

"Yassen is lucky to be breathing on his own," He said sternly, "As it is, simple respiration is painful and potentially dangerous. Visitors are utterly out of the question."

"I only want to talk to him for a minute!" Alex snapped, "He doesn't even have to talk back! I just have to tell him something!"

The doctor looked equally exasperated by the entire situation now.

"Well, write it down and I'll deliver the message then."

"No!" Alex spat out from between gritted teeth, "It's private."

"I'm sorry, you'll have to wait then." The doctor paused, "You can try again-"

"_Doctor Damodara!" _A woman suddenly shouted from beyond the double doors that separated the room Alex stood in from the actual clinic and ward, _"Come quickly!"_

Doctor Damodara didn't hesitate. Without a single further word, he sprinted through the doors, producing a syringe of some kind. Before the doors could swing shut, Alex slipped into the ward after him.

The ward was empty of patients, except for the bed down the end. Alex saw Yassen and felt his heart catch in his throat.

Usually so controlled and invulnerable a man, Yassen looked utterly broken now. His skin was pale and his face drawn. Even more frighteningly, the Russian lay writhing in his bed, back arched and fists opening and closing in agony. Even from where Alex stood by the doors, he could hear the rasps and pained, shallow breathing.

Alex couldn't stand it, but he found he was quite unable to turn away from the horrible, terrifying sight of the man who was currently the closest thing he had to family, tortured by a pain beyond his ability to tolerate. Alex found his throat had closed up and he was shaking from fear.

Thankfully, once Doctor Damodara injected the contents of the needle in his hand into Yassen's IV, there was little more to see. Yassen became very still quickly and Alex's sigh of relief was a quiet, ragged breath, leaving him shuddering in its wake.

Then, seemingly just before he passed out, Yassen spoke.

"Don't tell Alex."

At this, Alex was unable to a small cry from escaping his mouth. At this sound, Doctor Damodora and the nurse looked up sharply. The colour drained from the nurse's face when she saw the horrified, yet oddly empty expression on Alex's face. She looked at Doctor Damodora, obviously panicking.

"Alex!" Damodora was obviously shocked to see him there, "I… Don't move!"

This seemed like an odd demand to make. Alex opened his mouth to question the doctor, but found he was shaking too hard and words simply wouldn't come. He meant to take a step forwards, but at that moment, everything came crashing together at once. Alex gave a strangled sort of gasp as everything that had happened to him in the last week or so registered.

Then, everything slanted violently and the ground rushed up to meet him, accompanied by an old acquaintance: the swift blow of the black void.

* * *

**Haha, it just wouldn't be the same if I didn't end the chapter in a cliffy, melodramatic manner as always! Alex going into a mini nervous breakdown and blacking out seemed as good a way as any to do exactly that :P  
**

**So, here are my questions for this time 'round:**

**a) Did this chapter remind you of any songs?**

**b) Any more guesses about what became of Nastya, who she was, what she was to Yassen etc?**

**c) What is Jun going to try and do for revenge? Any ideas are more then welcome!**

**d) Any thoughts for how Alex's first therapy session should go?**

**Anyway, nice to finally be back! Hope you guys liked this chapter!**

**TTFN from Vampassassin  
**


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